


If You Could Hide Beside Me, Maybe for a While

by RM_Franks



Category: Sex Education (TV)
Genre: Character Development, Communication, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Humor, M/M, Other, Post-Season/Series 02, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:33:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22884085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RM_Franks/pseuds/RM_Franks
Summary: Post-season 2. Otis knows what he wants, and he's going to fight to make it happen. But what does Maeve want, and how easy will she find it to trust anyone? If there's one thing they're both going to learn, it's that communication is healthy.
Relationships: Otis Milburn/Maeve Wiley
Comments: 102
Kudos: 339





	1. I love you

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not quite sure where this is going. At the moment it's a sort of linked-together snapshot fic, covering the days after the Quiz Heads' victory and the school play.
> 
> Mostly Maeve and Otis, but other characters will pop up as I get around to them. No one is going to be an outright villain, I prefer shades of grey... although Isaac probably won't come out of this looking like the hero he seems to think he is.

**If You Could Hide Beside Me, Maybe For A While**

The caravan feels empty, somehow. Maeve knows it’s ridiculous to think that, because it’s the same as it’s been for ages. Just her, looking after herself. No sticky, messy kid sister with all her stuff lying around, no lying mother getting in the way. But… it’s not the same as it was. _You carve these places in your life for people,_ she thinks, _and it’s amazing how quickly they feel like they’ve always been there._

She’d had no choice, she tells herself. Erin was lying to her, she was still using, and Maeve had seen this play out before. Better to let Elsie grow up without all of that, to never have to deal with her mother walking out. But Maeve just couldn’t forget the look of pure rage and heartbreak on her mother’s face, as she’d realised what her daughter had done. _Congratulations_ , she told herself, _you finally got to hurt her as badly as she hurt you. How does it feel?_ It feels shit.

She’d spent the weekend alternating between hiding inside and hanging out with Isaac. He thought he was cheering her up, with his stream of jokes and self-deprecating put downs about what losers they both were, but it wasn’t helping. She didn’t want to be a loser, she didn’t want to be alone all the time, with only a bitter, cynical guy for company.

_Where do you see yourself in ten years, Maeve?_ She knows the answer to that. People like her don’t get a house with big windows, like the Marchettis or the Milburns. They get the caravan park and social services.

_Ugh, fucking Milburn_ , she thinks, acid burning her insides. He drives her crazy, she can’t figure out how he’s sometimes capable of being such a raging arsehole, of being as cruel as he was at his party. But he’s also capable of being so… perfect. The diary he gave her for her birthday, she’d thought he was showing just how well he understood her, but now she can’t help but question everything he’s said and done.

She’s questioning everything – everything he’s said, everything she’s done, whether her sister will grow up to hate her, or maybe not even know she exists. And she’s just so tired. Tired of being angry, of bottling everything up and not just screaming at the world. She’s tired of being lied to and taken advantage of, tired of having to be the person saving everyone. Why can’t someone just come along and save _her?_

It’s almost a relief to have to go to school, just to get out of the caravan and away from her darkest thoughts. She can’t wallow forever, as much as she’d like to. Isaac is right about that, at least – She needs to shake this off and accept that some people just let you down. Don’t give them the chance to do it again.

* * *

Otis slumps against his locker and sighs heavily. It’s been three days since he left that message on Maeve’s phone. Three days and not a peep from her. He shouldn’t be upset about that, he tells himself. After all, it took him a couple of days to answer her text, and when he did, he hurt her. Let her have all the time she needs… just… let that be three days.

He watches kids stream past, in one direction or another. The Untouchables flocking together as usual, but Ruby glances in his direction and says, “morning, Otis.” He answers with his best attempt at good cheer and his smile is almost real as he takes in Anwar and Olivia’s bemused looks. That’s one good thing that has come out of his party, he guesses – Since he helped Ruby get the morning after pill and their little talk in the woods, she’s been quite nice to him. Not particularly _friendly_ – she is Ruby after all – but probably as nice as she gets.

But everything else is so weird. His mum isn’t really talking to him, she just seems distracted and flustered and he knows she’s still so disappointed in him. He’s tried to apologise, but she just brushes it off, like she doesn’t want to hear it. And he doesn’t know how to handle that. But he has managed to apologise to Jakob, and it felt really good. He knows he still has more to say to Ola, he owes her more than the half-apology he gave her. It felt good leaving that message for Maeve too, though there’s still more he wants to say. So much more. If he’s not careful, he’ll end up an apology addict.

Eric and Adam. That’s another thing that’s just weird. Otis had barely recovered from the revelation that Adam gave Eric a blowjob, and now he’s declaring he wants to hold Eric’s hand? But Eric has been walking on air since, so Otis figures all he can do is be there to catch his friend if he falls. What he certainly shouldn’t be doing is giving relationship advice. All the evidence points to him being one of the worst possible people to do that.

He’s just about to haul himself off to English when he sees her. At the end of the corridor, she appears like a vision – okay, so she’s stalking along like the world has offended her, that look on her face that Otis knows means she’s not letting anyone in – but still, she takes his breath away. His Maeve. He sees the moment that she realises he’s there. Her eyes flicker in his direction, and her lips tighten a fraction. Does she falter, just for a split second? Or is he imagining it?

He opens his mouth to speak and is mortified to realise that he can’t remember how. Maeve has increased her pace, is almost past him now and he sees her glance at him again, but she’s not stopping. Shit, he thinks, did I piss her off even more? “Maeve,” he blurts, ashamed at the crack in his voice. “Hi.”

“Hi,” she says shortly, without breaking stride, and he lurches after her.

“How are you?” he asks, trotting in her wake.

“Fine.” She’s giving him nothing, face blank, eyes fixed in front of her.

“Did you… have you…” He stutters, confused and increasingly embarrassed. Of all the reactions he’s considered, this indifferent coldness wasn’t one. He’s imagined her screaming at him, perhaps laughing and calling him a dickhead and, in his most daring fantasies, her falling into his arms and declaring she loves him too.

She stops and whirls to face him, and he can see anger in her face now. That’s progress. Sort of. “What do you want, Otis? I have to get to class.”

Otis takes a moment to compose himself, under her withering glare. “I just wondered if you had anything to say to me.”

Maeve wrinkles her nose in distaste. “Why would I have anything to say to you?”

“Well… after the voicemail I left you…”

“Voicemail?” She sounds genuinely confused. “What voicemail? What are you on about?”

He’s flummoxed. She’s not heard it, he realises. No wonder she didn’t call! But how? “I left you a voicemail on Friday,” he says, trying to sound confident, then he falters, “but maybe you were too busy…”

Maeve blinks at him in confusion. “Well? What did it say?” She’s still pissed, but he can see that he’s at least managed to get her attention.

_Crap. What did it say?_ He tries to rack his brains and find the words, or at least the sentiment. “Erm, a few things. Look, is it not on your phone?”

She glowers at him, contemptuous again. “I don’t have time for this. I didn’t get any voicemail from you, and I’m not interested in your bullshit.” She turns from him and starts to walk away.

“I love you!” Otis calls after her, embarrassingly loud in the thankfully empty corridor.

She freezes, her back still to him, then slowly turns around. Her eyes are huge, staring at him in stunned silence.

* * *

_What did he just say?_ She imagined it. She must have. Milburn would never have the balls to say something like that.

He’s looking at her, his dumb, sincere face and his blue, blue eyes, and she realises she hasn’t imagined it. He looks terrified, shocked at his own boldness. Or maybe at her reaction.

“What?” She splutters, and realises her heart is pounding so hard it feels like it might burst from her chest. Is this excitement or panic? She isn’t sure.

“I… I love you.” He stutters, then hurriedly continues, “well, that was the gist of it anyway. There was more in it, about making mistakes and trying to do the right thing and that I’ve been so stupid and…”

“Okay, shut up,” she barks, and he actually does. She hasn’t had a message from him, she knows she hasn’t. No missed calls, nothing. Did he misdial, or hang up before leaving his message? She shakes herself. What is she doing? He just said... “You don't love me, Otis.”

“I do,” he insists. “I've been in love with you for a while now.” He looks so earnest, so convinced that she feels something strange and terrifying welling up inside herself. She can't fall for this.

“If you love me then why... Why _everything?_ ” Why Ola? Why that text message that crushed her? Why humiliate her at his party? Why have sex with Ruby?

“I'm an idiot,” he answers. “I'm sorry. I... look, you obviously didn't get my message, so I'll say it again. I was so caught up with doing what I thought was the right thing... being with Ola and choosing my girlfriend over the girl I really... Over you. I didn't want to be like my dad. He ruined his marriage... both his marriages... by cheating.”

“I had no intention of being your bit on the side, Otis!”

“I know! But I just thought... If you make a commitment you stick to it.”

She sighs, wearily. He's such a fucking idiot. And so is she.

“We're late for class, Otis.” He deflates, visibly disappointed, and she adds, “find me at lunch. We'll try to figure this shit out.”

The flash of hope on his face warms her heart, but she's not ready to believe him yet.

* * *


	2. You're still an arsehole

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the positive comments and kudos on chapter one. I'm glad people liked it. 
> 
> Most of the chapters will alternate between Otis and Maeve's POVs, including at least one of each. I may branch out to some Eric or Aimee POVs, maybe other characters too, if I feel comfortable writing in their voices.
> 
> Lots more talking in this chapter. Let's face it, these two really need to do as much talking as they possibly can.

Maeve is sitting out on the lawn, completely minding her own business and not at all waiting for an infuriating, confusing, sweet dickhead of a boy to find her. She’s got de Beauvoir’s Letters to Sartre open on her lap but hasn’t read a word. She notices him approaching out of the corner of her eye, uncertain and doing that cute little sidling walk he always does when he’s nervous.

She doesn’t look up, wants him to stew in discomfort for as long as possible. And she wants to figure out exactly what it is she should say to him.

Eventually, he tiptoes up until he’s about six feet from her. “Hi, Maeve,” he says, “can I… um… can I sit down?”

“I don’t own the grass, Otis.”

“Right. Okay.” He folds his stork-like legs under him and sits, peering at her. Finally, she looks up from her book and just stares at him challengingly for a few seconds. She wishes he didn’t have such an effect on her. He’s not even that good looking, why does she feel butterflies in her stomach whenever she sees his face?

But she’s not going to talk first. He realises that and coughs, embarrassed. Clearly, he hasn’t quite figured out what he wants to say. _What a fucking surprise_ , Maeve thinks, bitterly. _It's a shame he's not always this careful before he speaks._

Eventually, he finds some words. “You really confused me, when you told me you liked me.” That’s not a shock. He waits to see if she’s going to debate it with him, when she stays silent he continues. “I didn’t know what to do. I’ve been crazy about you for the longest time, but you were with Jackson and you seemed happy and I really didn’t think you’d ever be interested in me.”

Maeve glares at him. “Why not?”

“Because! I’m… Me.” He says, trying to explain. “I’m not cool, I’m not interesting. And you’re… you’re you!”

She suddenly feels sad, but also a little offended over the implication that she's shallow. “You’re not fair on yourself, Otis,” she tells him. Then quickly adds, “but you’re still an arsehole.”

“I know.” He continues, “anyway, I was confused and then you sent me that text, apologising. Ola saw it just when we were about to…” He blushes, and Maeve decides she really doesn’t want to know what they were about to do. “So she told me I had to choose. My relationship with her or my friendship with you.”

“And you chose her.” Maeve’s voice is flat, resigned.

“What was I supposed to do?” He raises his voice in agitation. “She was my girlfriend!”

“I was your friend! You’re not supposed to…How could you just… _stop?_ ” She’s practically shouting now too, and she spots a couple of nosy pricks trying to listen in. She doesn’t care. 

“I don’t know,” he says, and his voice sounds almost whiny now. It’s not attractive. “If it's any consolation, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have managed it. But I thought I had to try. I didn’t want to ruin things with Ola. I was looking at my dad and thinking, ‘do the opposite of everything he’s doing.’ But I was wrong. Because Ola isn’t who I wanted to be with.” He fixes her with an imploring gaze. “It was always you, Maeve.”

She exhales heavily. He’s telling her the truth. At least, the truth as it is right now. What if he changes his mind again a month from now?

Maeve sighs heavily, bone-weary, tired of it all. “You say want to be with me, but the things you said at your party… they really hurt.” There’s a lump in her throat, as she remembers his slurring cruelty.

“I’m sorry,” he says, simply. “I’m really, truly sorry. I never should have said those things.”

“Did you believe them?” _Because I think I did._

He pauses, thinking. “Some of it, yes. I don’t mean that you’re the most selfish person that I ever met. That’s not true.” He looks at the grass between them in shame. “I wanted to hurt you, and I knew that I could.”

They’re both silent for a while. Otis still peering at the ground, Maeve scrutinising him.

“I _was_ being selfish,” she says, finally. “I wanted you to break up with Ola and be with me. I thought that telling you how I felt would either have you do that, or you’d tell me you just didn’t like me that way.” She laughs bitterly. “I just didn’t think you’d tell me you felt the same and then stay with her.”

“I was trying to get over you.”

“We’ve really made a mess of this, Otis.” Maeve says, helplessly. She wants to ask him, _why did you shag Ruby?_ The words almost leave her lips, but she dreads the answer. If it was just drunken sex, she has no leg to stand on, but if he did it to get back at her, or if Ruby had thought it was a chance to strike at Cockbiter, she thinks she'd rather not know. Just… why _her?_

“We can fix it.” He sounds determined, hopeful.

“Maybe,” she concedes, trying not to let her hopes rise too high. Then she notices Ruby sitting down on a bench with Anwar, on the other side of the field. She's not looking at them, doesn't even appear to have noticed, but Maeve still doesn't want that girl in her eyeline. “Let's go for a walk.”

* * *

Otis trots after Maeve, as she strides out of the school's main entrance. “I didn't think you meant actually leave school,” he protests.

“Go back if you like,” she says, and he knows this is a test. She likes to do this – to push his boundaries and get him to prove he's willing to do things he doesn't want to do. He sighs and lengthens his stride to walk alongside her.

“I'm here,” he tells her. _I'm not going anywhere_ is unspoken, but she glances at him with a pleased glint in her eye. “Where do you want to go?”

She seems to weigh her words for a moment before answering. “Nowhere in particular. But I didn't need to see Ruby hovering in the background while we were talking.”

“Oh.” Otis isn't sure how to take that. Maeve had obviously been upset about him and Ruby, but this is the first time she's mentioned it since she offered congratulations so sharp he's surprised his jugular had remained intact. “Was she hovering?” He immediately winces, worried that she'll think he's interested in what Ruby is doing.

Maeve fixes him with a glare, and grits her teeth, but she's calm enough when she answers. “No, she was hanging out with Anwar, but I still don't want to fucking look at her.”

“Okay.”

They walk on in silence for a few minutes, then Maeve asks, “what did your dad do that was so terrible?”

Otis blinks in confusion, until he remembers mentioning him earlier. “He came over from America to see me.” Maeve looks at him questioningly and he continues. “Only it wasn't really to see me. He came because he cheated on his wife and she left him.”

“Men are shit, Otis,” Maeve tells him, pointedly. He doesn't argue.

“Yeah, so he took me and Eric camping. Turns out my dad knows nothing about camping. We ended up getting lost, soaked and he tried to fight a pop-up tent that wouldn't pop up.”

She nods, as though that makes sense, and gives him a sympathetic little smile.

“In the end we checked into a hotel. And he ended up having sex with the receptionist. That's when I decided to send you that text message.”

“Ah. So it was an act of rebellion?” She sounds tired, but not angry.

“No,” he says, drawing the word out thoughtfully. “Not rebellion, exactly, but I wanted to prove I wasn't like him.” He paused. “I started the trip being so excited that my dad wanted to spend time with me, and ended it wishing he'd never come back at all.”

“Everyone has feet of clay, Otis,” Maeve tells him, with a sense of grim satisfaction. “It's how you deal with finding that out that defines you.”

“I don't know whether that's the most pessimistic or most optimistic thing I've ever heard, Maeve,” he answers.

“Fatalistic, actually. But what can you do?”

“Try and learn from their mistakes, I guess. So,” he looks over at her, and she's got a thoughtful, distant look on her face, "how are you dealing with my sodden, formless, clay hooves?”

“Don't know yet,” she tells him. “You might still be worth moulding.”

He accepts that. If she needs time, he'll give her every minute of it. 

They fall into silence and Maeve starts to drag her feet a little. Otis thinks she's just reluctant to admit that this was impulsive, that she's trying to think of a way to take them back to school without losing face. He figures he should probably help her out.

“We should really go back. I've got history this afternoon, and we have a big test on Friday.”

“Fine,” she huffs, but Otis thinks he can see relief in her face. “Can't have you skipping a class, can we?” She turns on her heel and starts walking back to school.

The walk back takes longer. Maeve seems to have relaxed a little, but still seems deep in thought. Otis spends more time glancing at her than paying attention to where he's walking, and stumbles over a raised paving slab. As he staggers, trying not to swear over the agony that shoots up from his stubbed toe, Maeve laughs.

“How can someone be so clumsy?” she asks and her smile is the most genuine he's seen from her in a while. “You're such a dickhead.”

He stops hopping around and smiles back at her. It feels more like a grimace, and he's sure his shoe must be filling with blood. He thinks that's the first time she's called him anything but 'Otis' or 'Milburn' in weeks. _What sort of relationship do we have,_ he thinks, _where 'dickhead' is a term of affection?_ But somehow, Maeve manages to imbue that word with so much warmth and... love? In his wildest dreams. But she's still smiling at him, and those dreams don't seem quite as wild as they usually do.

“Sorry, Maeve,” he says. “We can't all be creatures of such exquisite grace and beauty.”

“Fuck off,” she retorts, a pink blush suffusing her cheeks, and she looks away, shaking her head slightly. He gets a rush of courage, and says what he's thinking.

“You are beautiful, though.” He sees her swallow heavily, and continues. “Definitely the most beautiful girl I've ever seen.”

“And that's why you want me, is it?” She asks, suddenly angry. “Because I'm _beautiful?_ ” Her mouth twists on the word.

“No,” he says, hesitantly. “That's just a part of you. You're also the smartest person I've ever met. How your brain works is an amazing mystery to me, but it's one I'd love the chance to really figure out. And even though you try to hide it, you've got such a good heart.” He smiles, seeing how uncomfortable compliments like this make her. “And you never seem to realise it.”

“I know how smart I am, Otis,” she scoffs.

“Well,” he nods thoughtfully, noticing that she ignored the 'good heart' bit of his compliment. “Good. Because I think you can achieve absolutely anything, and I'd love it if I could tag along to cheer you on.”

She snorts again, and looks at him with soft eyes. “Come on, dickhead, let's get back to school.”

* * *


	3. You make me feel brave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thanks for the kind comments. I'm glad that Otis and Maeve seem to be in character, now let's hope I can keep that up as I introduce more of the cast!
> 
> This is likely to be a plot-lite fic, heavy on conversations and moments that I'd like to see, but there won't be a big, dramatic storyline running through it. That might change, depending on where I go with it.

They're standing side by side, elbows not quite touching, leaning against the back wall of the toilet block. The best place to get some privacy, unless someone sneaks into the toilets for a smoke. Maeve feels better than she has in a long while. After their long talk yesterday, she's pretty sure she's going to forgive Otis. She already has, if she's being honest. For most of it. But she can't let him know that just yet. Forgiving him and wanting to start a relationship with him aren't quite the same thing.

She catches herself gnawing at her thumbnail – a terrible habit that she really needs to break – and says what’s been running around her head for the last half hour… give or take six months.

“You make me feel brave, Otis.” It's a shocking admission, but Maeve looks up at Otis challengingly as she says it. She can see that he doesn't understand. That confused expression on his face, slightly offended on her behalf and she knows what he's going to say before he even opens his mouth.

“You're brave all the time, Maeve.” Exactly what she expected. “Look at how you don't care about what people think, how you always face down anyone who criticises you.” She can hear the pride in his voice, and it makes her heart soar, even while his denseness irritates her.

“That's not bravery. That's just defending myself.” She smirks mirthlessly, recalling just a few of the times she's had to throw an insult back at someone, or threaten them.

“I don't understand the difference,” Otis says, cocking his head to one side as he studies her.

“You don't have to be brave to defend yourself. Bravery is…” she searches for the words she wants, needing him to get what she's saying. “It's... not being afraid to see something you want and go for it. To believe you can do more, be more.” She sighs, rolling her head back to look up at the sky. “I've never really been that way. Not since I was a little girl and didn't know what poor was, didn't know why my mum would sometimes be passed out on the couch for hours in the middle of the day.”

He doesn't answer right away. She can feel him staring at her, but doesn't look back, because if she sees pity in his eyes, she might never forgive him. Then, “I think I get it,” he says, his voice solid and serious. And when she does look at him, the expression on his face isn't pity, it's this deep, soul-searching look that strips away all her defences.

“You're doing it now,” she groans, barely resisting the urge to reach out and touch him.

“I'm sorry,” he says, so sincerely that she can't help laughing quietly and smiling wanly at him. He smiles back, and she realises that he does get it. He gets a little braver himself and adds, “but you do the same for me, you know.” He leans towards her slightly, his elbow brushing against hers. She shouldn't be so conscious of a simple touch, but it sends a brief shiver up her arm.

“Really?” she asks, coyly. She has a good idea of what he's going to say - she still remembers the letter he left for her, with the essay trophy - but there's something inside her that really wants to hear him say it.

“Yeah, absolutely.” His smile broadens, and he shakes his head slightly in wonder. “Before I met you... well, before we started hanging out... I was more than happy to be anonymous. I thought I could just get through school without anything exciting happening, and that was what I wanted. Then I was late for biology that day, and the seat next to you was the only one free.”

“Can't blame me for that,” Maeve says, smiling a little at the memory of an awkward boy who feared even touching a plastic dick, but could name all the parts of the vagina.

“It was the best thing to ever happen to me, Maeve,” Otis says, fixing her with a gaze that was at once tender, affectionate and determined.

She smiles and ducks her head, uncomfortably aware that her cheeks have suddenly gone a healthy shade of pink. “Me too,” she says, so quietly she doesn’t think he hears, until his hand reaches out and hesitantly touches hers, seeking permission. She twists her wrist and laces her fingers through his. She still isn't sure it can ever work between them, but she can have this.

“My mum’s gone,” she tells him, still looking at the ground.

After a beat, he asks, “she skipped out on you again?” He’s tentative, careful to keep any possible judgement or pity out of his voice, and Maeve loves him for it.

She sighs. “No, not this time.” Looking up at him, her heart flutters when she sees she has his unwavering attention. Those ridiculously blue eyes fixed on her. She tries to say it casually. “She was off the wagon and lying about it. Lost her job too. I called Social Services.”

“Elsie?” He can’t avoid a wince of sympathy, and his hand squeezes hers a little tighter.

“They took her. I knew they would, but it’s better for her.” Maeve is surprised at how steady she sounds, even while her insides are churning up in anger and grief. At herself, at her mother, at Elsie’s dad who apparently doesn’t care. “Mum was so angry, she was raging at poor Cynthia. But I told her it was me.”

“I’m so sorry, Maeve,” Otis says, and she can see he means it. He’s sorry for _her_ , for what she had to do. Not for who she is, or the fact her life is so shit. She can accept that. Without warning, she buries her face into his shoulder and wraps her arms around him, willing herself not to cry.

Otis slowly brings his arms up to embrace her, and has the good sense not to say anything, just to hold her while she tries not to think for a while.

She notices that Otis is wearing cologne, can’t really remember him wearing it before but whatever brand it is, she’s going to need him to change it. It stings her nose. She smiles at that and pulls back to look up at him fondly, not caring that her eyes are probably red-rimmed and teary.

“Thank you for telling me,” he says, simply, and she has an urge to kiss him, so damned hard. She resists, doesn’t want their first kiss to be tainted with the memory of her fucked up family.

“Thank you for listening,” she replies, and he laughs self-consciously.

“Any time.”

* * *

“So, you and Maeve made up, yeah?” Eric is grinning at him, looking happy enough to burst.

They're hanging out in Otis' room. Eric has been playing Splatoon while Otis writes up some history notes, still worrying about that test. He'd prefer to be studying in peace, but since Adam, he finds himself taking whatever bits and pieces of Eric's time are free.

“We did. I think,” he says, looking up from his notepad. “I managed to explain everything, and I think she accepted that I was telling her the truth. We're... we're getting on quite well.”

“Shit, Otis,” Eric mocks. “Tone it down, I don't need to hear about your hot and sweaty 'getting on'.”

“It's complicated, okay?” Otis says. He's not going to deny that he feels a little frustrated that Maeve is being so vague. She hasn't said she still has feelings for him, but she hasn't said she doesn't, either. To Otis, that means that she probably does still want to be with him. Maybe.

“Yeah, obviously,” Eric replies, pausing the game for a minute and studying Otis, his head cocked to one side. “Look, if you guys just want to be friends then whatever. But I don't see how it can work, seeing as you're so madly in love with each other.”

Otis sits in silence for a moment, before deciding to confess. “I did tell her I love her.”

“What?!” Eric shouts, standing up and staring, goggle-eyed. “Finally?! When? How? What did she say? Tell me everything!”

Otis sighs, and explains about the voicemail, and how she didn't hear it and how he ended up blurting it out again, in the school corridor. Eric sits down again, a rapt expression on his face as he listens.

“So,” Eric says, when Otis is done. “You told her you love her, but she didn't say it back?”

“No." He thinks back to their conversation that afternoon, and how open she'd been, how vulnerable. He can't remember her ever being so frank before, about her feelings. The physical contact they've shared has always been fleeting - a brush of arms here, a quick pat on the back there, one hug, standing outside her caravan and one moment where, if he hadn't freaked out, he's sure she would have kissed him - so he isn't shy to admit to himself that having her pressed up against him, her face buried against his chest and his arms wrapped around her, made him feel like he was one hundred feet tall. But more than the physical contact, her words mean more to him than anything. "She did say I make her feel brave.”

“What does _that_ mean?” Eric frowns in confusion.

“She said that I make her think she can achieve things, be more than just a girl from the caravan park with no future.”

“Well, there you go,” Eric is enthused again. “You don't say something like that to someone unless you love them.”

“Maybe,” Otis concedes. “But after everything that's happened, I'm just glad she wants to hang out again. And hopefully we can figure out how to move on from there.”

“Well,” Eric's disappointed. He turns back to the TV and picks up the Switch controller again. “Make sure you let me know when you start moving.” He starts playing again, and Otis turns his attention back to the intricacies of the Siege of Vienna.

“If anything happens, Eric, you'll be the first person I tell.” Otis decides to change the subject. He's had enough of his own sad love life being analysed. “Anyway, speaking of things moving forward, how are you and Adam doing?”

Eric drops the controller and sits up straight, a huge smile on his face. “Really good, actually.” He's positively beaming. “I mean, Adam's being really sweet, and he's still messed up and doesn't talk much but we've been kissing a lot, and when he does say things, they're really nice.”

“That's good,” Otis says, hoping he sounds sufficiently excited for his friend. Inwardly, he's resigned himself to hoping that this thing blows over quickly, without too much fallout damage. It's not that he doesn't want Eric to be happy – of course he does – it's just that he can't see how Adam can ever be a good match. _What was wrong with Rahim?_ He wants to ask. _He seems nice, and he didn't threaten to beat you up even once!_

“Yeah,” Eric says. “It is good. I met his mum the other day, and she's really nice, you know? I don't know how she ever married Principal Groff.” He grimaces on Groff's name, and Otis wonders what sort of stories Adam has had to tell about his dad. All of them unpleasant, it would be safe to say.

“Maybe he was different when he was younger,” Otis says, as tactfully as he can. He can’t really imagine Principal Groff ever being young, but it wouldn’t surprise him too much if he’d been a bully, like his son. He seems to take the same sort of joy in throwing his weight around that Adam always did.

“Maybe,” Eric shrugs. “Anyway, man, we’ve got more important stuff to talk about. It’s your birthday next week. What do you want to do?”

Otis blinks, with everything that’s been going on, he’s honestly forgotten how close it was. And he reflects for a moment on the fact his mum hasn’t said anything about it. He doesn’t really do much for his birthday anyway, but his mum and Eric always made a bit of a fuss over him. “Something quiet, obviously. My mum will want to cook, and my dad is still here.” He smiles wistfully. “It might be the first birthday I can remember that I can spend with them both.”

Eric nods, smiling. “Okay. That sounds nice. So, your parents, me, Maeve and...?”

“I don't know if Maeve will want to come, Eric. She hates birthdays.”

“Course she does.” Eric huffs. “Do you _have_ any other friends?”

Otis thinks for a moment. “Not really,” he admits. “I'll mention it to Ola, though.” Eric looks surprised at that, and Otis clarifies, “We had a talk the other day, and I think we’re going to be okay. She was right about… well, about pretty much everything. She said we should be friends. And I guess she might like to bring Lily.”

“That's so weird,” Eric says. “Ola and Lily together? Lily was so desperate to have sex with a guy.”

“I know,” Otis says quietly, and ignores Eric's curious look. “But look, if they're happy then I'm happy for them.”

“Yeah, I guess. I like Lily. And Ola. It'd be nice to get to know them better. Hey, do you think Maeve and Ola will even want to be in the same room together?”

Otis frowns. The idea that they dislike each other because of him is too strange to think about too much. He’s never thought of himself as someone girls might fall out over. “I guess I’ll have to talk to them.”

“Yeah,” Eric agrees. “You will. Because it was bad enough when your girlfriend and the girl you were friends with didn’t like each other the first time around.”

“Maeve isn’t my girlfriend,” Otis reminds him, testily.

“Sorry,” Eric says, holding his hands up in mock apology. “I should have said ‘the girl you’re in love with who is also in love with you but you aren’t together because you’re both idiots’. But that takes far too long to say, so sort it out, yeah?”

Otis sighs heavily, wishing Eric would stop badgering him about it, but he has to concede his friend has a point. At some point, he’s going to need to figure out how to move things with Maeve forward. Or accept that they aren’t going to.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Otis' reservations about Eric and Adam are not necessarily shared by me - at least, not wholesale - but I do think Otis would be troubled by it all, and he seemed to like Rahim quite a bit while knowing all of the messy, unpleasant history between Eric and Adam.


	4. It's not a party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for the kind comments. I'm really pleased that people think I'm doing a good job with the character voices.
> 
> This chapter is sadly light on Otis/Maeve, but you need to build up to these things, don't you?
> 
> I'll say upfront that the only characters I genuinely dislike in this show are Isaac and Principal Groff (if they turn up, I'll still try to do them justice) so I don't have any intention of smearing characters or writing them unsympathetically. I'm always going to try to write them in ways I see as true to their personalities. They may not always be nice or likeable people, but that's been true of everyone in the show at some point.

Otis manages to find Ola in the library the next day. She’s got her head buried in a textbook, but she’s alone. He’s glad of that, because the more he thought about talking to her, the more he realised he hadn’t really cleared the air.

She looks up, a pleasant smile on her face, when she hears him approach.

“Hi, Otis,” she says, folding the book around her finger so she doesn’t lose her place.

“Ola, hi.” He half waves at her awkwardly, and she smirks. “Um, have you got a minute?”

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“I just wanted to get some things off my chest,” he starts, then hurriedly continues when she inhales and seems to stiffen. “Good things! Things I should have said to you last week.”

“Okay,” she says, still looking a little apprehensive. “Do you sit down?” He does, and when he notices he’s a little too close to her, he edges away. She shakes her head in wry amusement. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to bite you.”

“Yeah,” he laughs off his awkwardness. “I just thought, you know… physical proximity and all that.”

She looks at him, and clearly wants to laugh. “Physical proximity isn’t a problem, Otis, believe me.”

“Right. Well.” He’s stumped for a second, and if he’s honest he’s a bit shaken by how collected she is. She shouldn’t be this calm with him, after some of the things he said. “Okay so... it's my birthday next week,” he begins.

“I know, Otis,” she tells him, a hint of smugness in her voice and Otis realises he doesn't remember when her birthday is, if he ever knew at all. _I wasn't a very good boyfriend, was I?_ That thought stings, but then he finds it oddly comforting, makes him realise that Ola is likely happier now than she was when they were dating.

“So,” he continues, “I'm having a bit of a... it's not a party...”

“A small gathering?” She asks, voice as innocent as she can make it.

“No!” He says hurriedly. “Just... a birthday dinner at home. My parents... both of them... and Eric. And I'd like it if you came?” He sounds unsure, so tries again. “I'd like you to come. I think you were right, and that we should be friends.”

Ola studies him for a few seconds, seemingly turning the idea over in her head. “Okay, Otis,” she says slowly. “Before I answer that, I've got a question for you.”

He nods. “Yeah, sure. What is it?”

She exhales then firms her jaw. “Did you ever really like me?” She asks, bluntly and with a touch of the hurt that he knows she's been feeling. When he opens his mouth to answer, she hurriedly continues. “I'm not trying to... get you back or anything. I definitely don't want _that._ I just want to know.”

“Ola,” he's actually glad that she's asked. He wants to do this anyway, but he hesitates, wanting to make sure he gets this right. “I did like you. Genuinely. I liked you a lot. But I wasn't completely honest, as you obviously know.” He smiles tightly and she rolls her eyes. “Yes, I was trying to get over Maeve. And I did feel a real connection with you... maybe because you're the first girl who was ever interested in me.”

She seems to relax, as though some tension she was holding inside herself has been released. “I don't think that's true, Otis. Maeve wanted you long before I did.”

“Well.” Otis shrugs uncomfortably. “I didn't know that then, did I?”

“No,” she sighs, “but I did. I could tell from the moment you bumped into each other at the dance. And I could see that you wanted her. I should never have let you convince me otherwise.”

“I'm sorry.” Again, those two words. He wonders whether he could just reduce his entire vocabulary to those two words, and whether it would impact on his life at all if he did.

“I'm sorry too.” She tells him. “Not about dating you, because that was fun. Mostly. But I didn't handle your feelings for Maeve well, and I took that out on both of you, in different ways.” She looks at him apologetically. “I never should have given you that ultimatum. It wasn’t fair.”

Otis just nods a little unnerved that Ola has ended up saying sorry to him. “Look, we both messed up, we agree on that. So can we just be friends?”

Ola smiles. “Yeah,” she tells him, seeming relieved and genuinely pleased. “I think we can. We can try, at least. And I will come to your birthday not-party.”

Otis grins. “Great! And listen, Lily is welcome too, if she wants to come.” Ola blinks in surprise. “Also, I hope this is okay, I'm going to ask Maeve to come as well.”

She nods slowly. “Yeah, I thought you would. I'm glad you guys have made up.” She leans back and takes a breath. “Look, Maeve and I may never be great friends, but I think we're past fighting over you.” She offers him a half smile to show she means no offence. “And if you need any advice on how to talk – or not talk – to girls, you can come to me.”

“Okay well... same goes for you,” Otis answers, and laughs when she swats his shoulder, shooing him away. _That went about as well as I could have hoped,_ he thinks. _Now for the hard bit... convincing Maeve to celebrate a birthday._

* * *

Maeve leans on the railing, looking down at the students below. She takes another drag on her cigarette and sighs contentedly. She feels more relaxed than she's felt in a long time. She can feel Aimee staring at her from two feet away. “What's up, Aimes?” She asks, turning her head to give a side-eyed look.

“You just seem happy,” Aimee burbles, a big, goofy smile on her face. She waves her own cigarette around recklessly. “It's nice, that's all.”

Maeve laughs. They've been standing up here for ten minutes, and this is the first time Aimee has stopped talking long enough to notice anything much. _I seem happy?_ She wonders, _so what are you, then?_ It's only when she sees Aimee like this that she realises just how much the assault had affected her. She can't believe she hadn't seen that something was wrong when her vivacious, joyous friend had been so quiet and troubled. But she'd had troubles of her own, hadn't she? Nothing compared to Aimee's, of course.

“I guess I am,” she concedes, and Aimee bounces on her toes in excitement. “Happier, anyway.”

“Is it 'cos of Otis?” Aimee asks, as direct as ever. “I know you guys have been up to stuff. Becca said she saw you both sneaking off behind the toilets the other day.” She leans in, mischief glittering in her eyes. “Were you shagging? I've told you before, it's so good, doing it in those toilets.”

“No!” Maeve laughs, giving her a playful shove. “We weren't shagging. We haven't. We were just talking.”

“Talking?” Aimee imbues that word with so much disgust. “Come on! He's not with Ola any more, you guys clearly made up. Shag him!”

Maeve can feel the heat in her face, knows she's red as beetroot. It's crazy, talking about sex does not embarrass her. It just doesn't. She changes the subject, asks something she’s been wanting to for a while. “How are you doing, anyway?” She takes in Aimee’s carefree expression and is only half surprised to see that she seems genuinely relaxed.

“I’m fine, honestly.” Aimee tells her, shrugging in exaggerated fashion. “It was a horrible experience, but you were really supportive, which I love.”

Maeve smiles, and accepts Aimee’s arm wrapping around her shoulder in appreciation. “And Steve?”

“He’s been great too. So understanding. We’ve not had sex again yet, I mean, I don’t want to be doing it and then see that guy’s face again. That would be awful. But Steve is the first guy I’ve liked being with and just… not having sex. You know?”

“Yeah,” Maeve says quietly. “I think I do.”

Then Aimee glances down to the quad below. “Oh, look. Here's lover-boy now,” she smirks as Maeve whips her head around, and sees the gangly frame of Otis, wrapped in that tricolour jacket, heading towards the stairs that lead up to roof. “Shall I hang around, seeing as nothing's going on?”

Maeve tears her eyes away from Otis to look at her friend. “No. Fuck off, Aimee,” she replies, and Aimee cackles as she flicks her cigarette butt away.

“See you later, babes,” she croons, and saunters past Otis as he reaches the top of the steps, looking him up and down so obviously that he squirms and his eyes get that funny, hunted look in them.

“Hey, muppet,” Maeve says as Otis reaches her.

“Muppet?” He peers at her curiously. “Which one?”

She smiles at him, slow and sure. “Well, I think I called you Cookie Monster once, but let's be honest, you're more of a Grover.”

He laughs easily, and Maeve feels a pleasant blooming of warmth in her chest. “I guess I can't really argue that one. At least I'm not Oscar the Grouch.”

“No,” she grins at him. “Your hair is too neat.” They just stand there for a moment, looking at one another, and Maeve feels the urge to kiss him again. Then he coughs and shifts his eyes uncomfortably.

“I was looking for you,” he begins, gulps almost comically, then continues. “I wanted to... it's my birthday next Wednesday,” she blinks in surprise, realising she had no idea when his birthday was. Not that she thought about birthdays at all, but... he did. “And I know you don’t like birthdays, so I’d never ask you to celebrate one but… I'm having a small ga... a bit of a dinner party, I guess.”

“A dinner party?” She laughs. “Bit posh aren't you?”

“I mean... my mum is cooking dinner for me and Eric and my dad and... I'd like you to come. If you want to, that is.” He looks worried that she'll say no. And to be honest, she almost does. “There won’t be cake,” he says, coaxingly. “Or presents. I promise.”

 _Dinner. With Otis' parents. In his house._ The idea of it is mortifying, and she can't help but think back to how she embarrassed herself at Jackson's. She doesn't do parents, wants even less to do with them after all that shit with Erin. But Otis is looking at her with so much hope on his stupid face that she sighs. “I can't promise anything. I've got loads of schoolwork, Ms. Sands is hammering me with stuff. But,” she pauses, then soldiers on. “I'll try to make it.”

He looks so happy that she's immediately glad she said it, even if she's already trying to squash the various excuses she could use for not going. “That's... that's brilliant, Maeve. And don't worry, it's not going to be crazy or wild. Eric's coming too, obviously. And...” he stops and looks stricken. “Oh, I forgot. I asked Ola to come too. And to bring Lily.”

Maeve feels a spike of jealousy, the shadow of what she'd been feeling all those times she'd seen Otis and Ola together. Irrationally, she has a moment of hatred for Ola, before remembering that she's not a rival any more. If anything, their evening of cathartic car smashing made her think there was a slight chance they could be friends. So she takes a second to compose her thoughts. “That's fine, Otis. I’m not going to claw her eyes out or anything.”

“I suppose not,” he answers. “She’s with Lily now anyway.”

“Huh?” Maeve is flummoxed. “Lily Tentacle Dicks?” Otis nods, and she’s even more confused. “Since when is _she_ gay?”

“Since now, I guess.” He shrugs, and Maeve is pleased that he seems truly indifferent to it. Not a speck of peevishness or resentment that Ola’s dating someone else. She realises she’s just standing there, gazing at him and her face gets hot. He’s noticed too, and he opens his mouth to speak, but then his phone buzzes. Irritably, he yanks it out of his pocket and looks at the screen. “Oh, it’s Eric. I’m supposed to meet him for lunch.” He looks up at her apologetically “So, I’ll see you later?”

She nods. “Yeah, probably.” She watches as he rushes off, down the stairs, and realises she’s chewing her thumbnail. Again. _Stop it, you idiot_ , she thinks. _No one wants to see a girl with no bloody fingernails!_ Then she starts thinking about this dinner again, and she can’t stand the thought of being questioned about her family again. Of Otis sitting there, knowing if she lies to cover her shame. What if they ask about her mum? How can she tell them _'oh, she just got busted by Social Services for using heroin while being responsible for the care of a three year old?'_ Otis complains about how crazy his mum is all the time, what’s she going to think about him dating… or, being really good friends with… someone like her? And Otis’ dad. From what she’s heard, he’s a mess and Otis doesn’t even seem to like him. What is she getting herself into? 

She breathes deeply, and then exhales heavily as she considers it all. “Fuck.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So maybe things won't all be rosy? Maeve obviously still has insecurities, and the idea of positive familial activities are hardly likely to fill her with excitement.


	5. Happy birthday, dickhead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had this scene in my mind from the moment I thought about Otis having a birthday, and it worked out pretty much as I wanted it to. I hope everyone likes it.

The night has wound down now. Eric left about ten minutes ago, Ola and Lily a while before that, but Otis’ dad is still there and it seems like his parents are at least trying to make sure he has a good birthday. He knows that his mum can only tolerate his dad’s bullshit for so long, and since really thinking about it himself, he’s got a much clearer understanding of why.

Otis is sitting out on the deck, enjoying the quiet and the cool, evening breeze. He's never really given much thought to birthdays before. They came, you celebrated, then carried on as normal. Of course you celebrate, it's a happy occasion. Only a true pessimist would refuse to celebrate the fact that they exist. He laughs to himself at that, with a touch of bitter humour.

She hadn't come. She’d texted him at the last minute to say she had an essay to write. Otis knows how important the aptitude stuff is, but he can’t help feeling a little annoyed that she gave him so little notice. He knows how she feels about family stuff, and maybe it’s his own fault. Her mother just blew into her life and blew it up, after all. _Of course she wouldn’t want to hang around with my parents,_ he thinks, _it’s only going to remind her of that shit._ It sucks that she’s not here – he missed her, and the chance to give her some idea of what a happy birthday could be was tantalising. Not that she'd have been easy to win over, of course, she never is. That's something Otis loves about her.

He sighs, and leans back in his chair, gazing up at the stars. A minute passes, maybe ten, before he hears the creak of deck boards behind him, and he turns his head.

She has come, after all. He recognises her silhouette easily – the leather jacket, the long legs and combat boots – and smiles when she freezes for a moment, caught. Then she's pulling up a chair alongside him.

“Hey, dickhead,” she says, softly.

“Hi,” he pitches his voice to match hers. “I didn't think you were going to come.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, and her voice has a vulnerable edge to it that completely disarms him. “I didn't actually have too much work. I’m not good at dealing with family stuff. And you know parties aren't really my thing.” She tilts her head, a wry smile on her face. “Besides, the last time I came to one at your house, I had a pretty shit time.”

He winces, the fuzzy memories of that night are never far away. Apart from the blank darkness that's all he has left of large parts of it. “So did I.”

“Really?” Her tone is sharper now. “It can't have been that bad. You got laid, after all.”

Otis sighs, wondering if she's come so she can finally challenge him about Ruby. It seems almost perverse to do it on his birthday, but he can't say it wouldn't be deserved. He looks at her and sees that she’s annoyed at herself.

“Sorry,” she mutters, “didn’t come here for that.”

“Why did you come?” Otis asks, genuinely curious. He’d decided that she just wasn’t interested in his birthday, when she hadn’t appeared at the party.

“To celebrate with you,” she says, so matter-of-factly that Otis almost laughs. She holds up a paper bag that he hadn’t noticed and raises her eyebrows in a manner Otis would love to describe as flirtatious. “Happy birthday, dickhead,” she says, reaching into the bag and pulling out a cupcake. She places it on the table in front of him then sticks a lone candle into the top of it and lights it with her cigarette lighter. “Make a wish, Otis,” she says, softly, and his breath catches. She’s looking at him in a way that he doesn’t quite recognise. Almost shy, and he’s sure he can see a slight flush in her cheeks, but maybe it’s just a trick of the candlelight.

He locks eyes with her, and the softness in her expression makes his heart skip a beat. Her eyes glisten in the light of the flame, and her tongue flits out to wet her lips, as though she’s nervous. He doesn’t know what to say for a long moment, then he smiles softly, still staring into her dark eyes.

He blows out the candle.

“What did you wish for?” Her voice is so quiet he barely hears her words, her eyes intent on his face.

“If I tell you, it won’t come true,” he says, barely recognising his own voice, the husk in it. He can feel the tension between them, almost a physical sensation. She smiles, slow and sure, and Otis suddenly feels as confident as he's ever felt in his whole life. He knows, beyond any doubt, that she wants him to kiss her.

So he does. He leans forward and captures her lips with his, a moment of panic as he wonders if he's actually any good at this, and then she responds, opening her mouth eagerly and bringing her hand up to the back of his head, fingers in his hair. He moans into her mouth, and she giggles. Maeve Wiley giggles! Otis almost falls out of his chair reaching for her and cups his hands around the back of her neck, pulling her closer. Her lips are softer than he ever imagined, and her tongue is in his mouth. The world falls away and minutes pass. Hours. In reality it's probably only twenty or thirty seconds before she pulls back a little, breathing heavily and leans her forehead against his.

“And here I thought all your expertise was purely academic,” she whispers, her breath hot against his lips.

Otis tries to laugh, but it comes out as a strangled squeak. “I thought so too.” He manages to refrain from asking 'was that good?' For once, he can accept what she's telling him without question. He clears his throat. “What... what brought this on?” He regrets the question as soon as it's out of his mouth. The last thing he wants to do right now is make her think. But she just looks at him, very seriously, from about six inches away.

“I told you. You make me feel brave, and I decided earlier tonight that waiting for some perfect moment to kiss you was stupid.”

“That felt pretty perfect to me,” he says, still feeling a little light-headed.

Maeve smiles in a way that makes Otis think he needs ten minutes of private time and pulls him back in for another kiss. This time it's slower, almost lazy with contentment. Her urgency is gone, and she seems to melt into him, until she's practically sitting on his lap. And he definitely needs some time alone with his penis. Or maybe she could.... His mind rebels from that. The idea of Maeve reaching into his pants and.... No, he's not quite ready for that yet, he’d just embarrass himself. But kissing? Stroking his hands from the nape of her neck down almost to the curve of her arse as she shifts her legs across his thighs? That he can do.

“Otis Milburn,” she teases, sighing into his mouth. “What are you thinking about?” She pushes the back of her thigh down onto the bulge in his trousers, leaving no doubt as to her meaning.

He laughs breathlessly, but not nearly as embarrassed as he thought he'd be. She's laughing too and pulling his head back towards her for another kiss. “I could get used to this,” she says, and the huskiness in her voice almost sends him over the edge.

“Maybe... maybe you should.” He manages, and she pulls back to look at him with curious eyes. “Get used to this, I mean. Maybe we could just kiss all the time?”

She smiles, bright and full of promise. “We'll do more than kiss, Otis.”

* * *

Maeve leans back in to kiss Otis again, wondering at the feelings it’s evoking in her, and trying not to let the heat, deep in her belly, overtake her senses. She can feel his dick, hard against her thigh, and it’s all she can do not to reach out and touch it. 

His hands are on her back, and she wants them everywhere. She's about to take one of them and reposition it somewhere more... stimulating, when someone coughs delicately, and Otis pulls away abruptly. Maeve turns to look behind her, and a solidly built, remarkably handsome man is standing on the deck, looking at once uncomfortable and intrigued.

“Sorry, Otis,” he says, a little smirk on his face. “Your mother sent me out to see if you were okay and,” his eyes take in Maeve with interest, “clearly you are.”

Otis is crimson, and almost squirming in discomfort and Maeve is suddenly aware of how they must look – her practically sitting in Otis’ lap, arms wrapped around his neck and lipstick surely smudged beyond repair. “Er… dad, this is Maeve. Maeve, this is my dad, Remi.”

Even though she's sharing a degree of Otis' obvious embarrassment, she’s immediately interested. This man who is everything Otis doesn’t want to be, but still infinitely better than her own father, who never even stuck around to pretend he was interested in his kids. She thinks she can see a resemblance, but it’s not strong.

“Ah,” he says, his voice smooth and confident. “Maeve. So you did manage to make it after all. I must admit, Jean and I were very curious. Otis was so disappointed you weren’t able to come for dinner.”

Maeve shifts in discomfort, pulling away from Otis slightly so she can turn to face Remi. “Yeah,” she says casually, “I had a lot of schoolwork to do.” Now that Otis knows she's lying she feels small, using that excuse again.

“But you’re finished, now?” Remi asks, knowingly.

“Taking a break,” she tells him, a studiously blank tone as she stands up, brushing her hands down her front as though she's smoothing her outfit. She’s reminded that this man is a sex therapist as well, and one of those who specialises in massaging the fragile masculinity of men who can’t get laid.

“Well.” Remi exhales heavily, looking Otis with something like pride, and Maeve hates it. “Why don’t you both come inside? I’m sure Jean would love to meet you, Maeve.”

Otis coughs, and pulls himself to his feet behind her. “You don’t have to,” he tells Maeve, then looking over at his dad he says, “she’s been studying all evening. Very tiring.”

Maeve's heart is racing. And not just from kissing Otis. _Meeting his mum?_ She can feel panic rising at the mere thought of it. His dad is standing right there, looking at her and that's bad enough, but she knows that Otis values his mum's opinion more than anything. He may complain about her, but she raised him and made him the man he is. Maeve can't deal with that sort of pressure right now. She came this evening for Otis, and for herself, but not to show Otis' parents that their son has conquered the heart of a pretty girl.

“Thanks for the invitation,” she says, smiling apologetically. “but I really should be going. The problem with this aptitude scheme is that they want to give you as much extra work to do as you can handle.” It's a lie, she's probably just going to go home and think about kissing Otis more. She's about to dig the hole deeper when Otis intervenes.

“That's what you signed up for, Maeve,” he tells her, and she thinks he looks almost relieved. “Go on, get going. I'll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, definitely,” she tells him. Then, looking at Remi, “it was nice to meet you, Mr. Milburn. Tell Mrs. Milburn I'm sorry I couldn't come in.”

“Of course,” Remi says smoothly. “Good night, Maeve. Otis, don't sit out here too long.” He turns and goes back into the house, and Maeve appreciates that he has that much tact. She looks back at Otis, and he's still got a vague smile on his face.

“Otis...” she starts, wanting to explain that she's not freaking out, like with Jackson's parents. Only, she's not entirely sure she isn't.

“It's okay, Maeve,” he tells her, reassuringly. “I think we had enough firsts for tonight.” His smile deepens, and takes on a confident edge that really, really does it for her. She takes an involuntary step closer to him, and then they're in each other's arms again. _He's really tall,_ she thinks absently. _When did he get so tall?_ She has to look up at him and realises that she likes that. She cranes her neck up and kisses him again, so easy and it just feels _right_. She loses herself in the sensations for a while, hasn't ever felt anything like this when kissing other boys. _This must be what being in love feels like,_ she thinks lazily, then blinks and pulls back suddenly. _Love? Oh shit._

“I have to go.” She says, then forces a smile that covers the realisation roiling within her. “I'll text you later, okay?” She steps back, keeping hold of his hand until their arms are stretched out, covering the space between them. She doesn't want to let go.

“Okay,” he says, grinning happily. His lips look a little swollen, and Maeve feels a sudden urge to laugh. In happiness? Panic? Or a bit of both? _I'm in love with Otis Milburn. Oh god._

“Goodnight, Otis,” she says, eyes lingering on his. Then she turns and starts up the steps, still breathless and flying higher than she ever has before. 

* * *

Otis watches her walk away, his lips still tingling from the incredible, indescribable sensation of kissing her. _That just happened_ , he tells himself. _I just kissed Maeve Wiley. A lot._ It had been the most intense feeling of his life. He’d thought that kissing Ola was amazing but this? It was something else entirely. His whole body feels charged, electric.

If this is what kissing her does, he gives a shiver, how will it feel when they… He stops himself, can’t let his mind go in that direction when his mum and dad are inside, waiting for him. Feeling like he’s walking on air, he turns and heads into the house.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So finally some physical communication, and real progress. But where are we going to go next?


	6. Quite the ladykiller

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I guess this one continues on from the moment the last chapter ended. I find myself eager to explore the various character dynamics we've already seen, before I branch out and throw different characters together. There's always more to be said than we get in the show (naturally, they've got to leave some things to the imagination).
> 
> Jean makes a cameo here, because I'm not quite sure what to do with her yet. The pregnancy could have a massive impact on Otis' life, or he could never even know about it, and I don't know which direction I like more yet.
> 
> Oh yeah, Isaac is in this one too. Sorry.

Otis finds his dad sitting at the kitchen counter, a glass of whisky in his hand. He nods and gives Otis a knowing smile. “So this Maeve, she’s the one you were talking about when we went camping? It seems like things worked out quite well.”

Otis flushes, recalling his bitter confusion during that trip, and how his dad had unwittingly convinced him to throw a stick of dynamite into his own life. “Yeah, it seems like it.” He doesn’t really want to talk about Maeve, or about what just happened outside, certainly not to his dad. It still doesn’t feel quite real, and he’s half scared that he’ll wake up any moment, to find sheets damp from another nocturnal emission.

“And I take it she’s the girl that your mum found you in bed with?” He’s smirking proudly, and Otis finds it irritating.

 _Why would mum tell him that?_ He thinks. _Why does she have to be so bloody open about this stuff?_ But he tries to shrug it off, and says as levelly as he can, “No. That was another girl.”

A moment of silence, as his dad blinks in surprise. “My boy!” he exclaims. “You’re becoming quite the ladykiller.” He laughs softly, shaking his head, which annoys Otis even more. His dad apparently didn’t think him capable of getting one girl, never mind two. “And that Ola as well. The pansexual? I must say Otis, this is a remarkable turn up for the books. I told you, didn’t I? Some people are just late bloomers.”

“Dad!” Otis hisses. “It’s not something I’m proud of. Ola and I broke up because of my feelings for Maeve. And Ruby was… I was drunk and it just happened.”

“Okay, okay.” His dad holds his hands up in a defensive posture. “So you like Maeve. Clearly she’s very keen on you as well. How long have you two been intimate?”

Before Otis can respond – probably with some choice swear words – his mum comes back into the room, and sees them. “Ah, Otis,” she says absently. “Good. It must be getting chilly out. What were you doing?”

He shoots a warning glance at his dad before answering. “Not much. Just thinking.”

His mum frowns at him, and he knows that she can always tell when he's lying. A ball of discomfort wells up in his belly, and he feels terrible about how he’s treated his mum for… well, for quite some time. _‘I always get your worst.’_ The words are lodged in his brain, and they cut deep. He never really thought about their dynamic, and how difficult it must be for her, to be raising a son as entitled and arrogant as he is. He’s trying to make it up to her – to be better and to show as much patience and understanding as possible. 

She’s still distant and distracted, and he figures she’s still disappointed in him running an unlicensed sex clinic for profit, as well as a number of other things. But they did have a nice time tonight, and she hadn't seemed like she was just putting up a strong front, she'd seemed to be in a genuinely good mood. Before he has to think of an answer to her question, his dad decides to take pity on him. “That's our Otis, Jean. Head in the clouds. He didn't even realise I'd gone out to find him.”

That much was true, at least. Otis avoids making eye contact with either of them, and his mum lets it drop. “Fine, whatever. Well there's washing up to be done, and I think you two can finally make yourselves useful. It may be your birthday, Otis, but that doesn't mean you can sit around dreaming all night.”

Otis' dad looks at him with a wry expression. “Well, you heard your mother, son. We'd better get cracking.”

Otis smiles, the normality of the moment strikes a chord in him. Something so domestic and mundane as washing the dishes with his dad, while his mum relaxes after a long day... it feels like a continuation of the dream he just lived out on the deck. He thinks he should pinch himself, but he can still almost feel the touch of Maeve's lips against his.

“I'll wash, you dry.” He tells his dad, tossing him a tea-towel.

* * *

Maeve walks home on autopilot, her mind replaying what just happened over and over, and she can’t stop the smile that keeps creeping onto her face. There’s still a lingering heat in her belly, betraying the arousal that Otis had stirred in her. She half thinks that it’s lucky his dad appeared when he did, or she might have ravished Otis right there on the deck. It’s been ages since she had sex with anyone and she’s horny as hell anyway, but with Otis as well… she blushes again, alone in the dark, and she knows she’ll spend a good hour wanking when she gets back to the privacy of her caravan. _I should have invited him to do it for me,_ she tells herself, biting her lip at the thought of it. She remembers the feel of his hard dick, pressing into her thigh, and that will have to do for now. But she’s got an active imagination, and it’s going to serve her well tonight.

It’s not too often that she can pat herself on the back and say, ‘well done, you made the right call’, but this is one of them. She’d concluded earlier today that stringing things out with Otis was pointless. She wants him. He wants her. They actually love each other – _love_ , she wonders. _That sort of sneaked up on me._ But she can live with it. She looks up at the stars and grins to herself, her heart so full it could burst.

So caught up is she in her reverie that she doesn’t even realise she’s reached the caravan park until she almost trips over an ugly garden gnome one of her neighbours uses to mark the edge of their property. It’s late now, and while there are plenty of windows lit up, there’s no one about. She picks her way through the darkness and reaches her ‘van. She’s just unlocking the door when she hears another door open behind her.

“Hey,” Isaac calls. _Has he been waiting and watching for me?_ She wonders with a twinge of discomfort. But she turns around and smiles.

Hey, what’s going on?”

“Not much,” he says, rolling his chair down the ramp and across the grass to her. “But where have you been, young lady? We’ve been worried sick.” The faux-authoritarian tone makes her laugh.

“What do you care?” She asks, shaking her head and leaning against her ‘van.

“Ouch,” Isaac retorts, looking wounded. “Of course I care. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Sure. Well, I was over at Otis’. It’s his birthday.”

Isaac says nothing for a moment, just looking at her. Then, “oh. I thought you weren’t really talking to him.”

Maeve shifts, realising she hadn’t mentioned anything about her and Otis making up to Isaac. _Not really his business though, is it?_ She thinks. She still compartmentalises a lot more than she should, but if she’s going to invite Otis into her life outside school, she might as well start now. “We made up.”

Isaac seems unsettled by her succinct explanation. “Just like that? After all those things he said to you?”

“Yeah, well he apologised, and I accepted it.” She doesn’t want to think about that stuff any more. The past is past and for once, she doesn't want to dwell on it. Tonight showed her that the future is going to be far more exciting.

“Must be nice,” Isaac says quietly, and Maeve frowns, not sure what he means. He continues, “to just say sorry and then it’s all fine.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Maeve asks, narrowing her eyes in irritation.

“Just that, he can say such cruel things, and you forgive him.” He smiles, a crooked, mirthless smile. “I guess he’s cleverer than he looked.”

“You don’t know him.” Maeve says forcefully. “That party… he was drunk and he was hurting too. We messed things up, and it was as much my fault as his.”

“Is that what he told you?” Isaac’s voice has taken on a cruel edge of its own now, condescending. It gets her hackles up.

“No, he told me… you know what? It doesn’t matter what he told me, that’s between Otis and me.”

“I’m sorry,” Isaac says, in a wheedling tone. “I don’t mean to pry. I just didn’t think you’d let him get into your head so easily.”

“He’s not in my head!” Maeve exclaims. _Well, he is,_ she thinks. _But not the way you're insinuating._ “He’s a nice guy and I like him. A lot. And it’s none of your business.”

“Okay!” Isaac exclaims, then gives a hollow laugh. “I didn’t mean to hit a sore nerve.”

Maeve glares at him, confused and angry that he’s being such a dick. It really is none of his business, just because she’s told him stuff before doesn’t mean she has to share everything. “I'm tired. Goodnight, Isaac,” she says firmly, and turns to unlock her door. He has the sense to stay quiet, sitting there in the dark until she’s gone inside and closed the door behind her.

She throws her keys down in frustration. _He’s completely ruined my mood. Fucking arsehole._ She stomps to the kitchen to make a cup of tea, her movements jerky and radiating irritation. She calms down as the kettle is boiling, and reasons that it’s true that Otis didn’t make a good impression at his party. But Isaac will see what a great guy he is, soon enough. _And if he doesn’t, fuck him,_ she thinks viciously. But she still looks towards the window, sees Isaac just closing the door as he goes back inside his caravan.

Her phone buzzes with a new message, and she glances down at it. It’s Otis.

_Hope you made it home safe. x_

She smiles and bites her lip, that warm feeling is coming back, and she quickly types a response.

_Yeah. Just got in. So, did you have a good birthday? x_

She smirks as she sends the message and doesn’t have to wait long for him to reply.

_I did. Surprising, in some ways, but definitely a memorable evening._

He’s playing coy, and Maeve finds that she quite likes it. It’s sweet, and very much him. But she knows there will be times when she wants him to be far bolder. She thumbs another reply.

_For me too. Hopefully we can make some more memories soon._

His answer is almost instant.

_I really want to._

Now that's a little more direct. She's tempted to ask, 'what do you want to do to me?' but realises that will probably make his head explode. Laughing quietly to herself, she settles down on the couch.

_We will. See you in the morning, dickhead. x_

She drops her head onto the backrest of the couch and lets her eyes close, focusing on the feel of Otis’ lips and hands, the taste of him and that aftershave that she’s going to tell him to pour down the sink. Yes, she’s glad that she decided to celebrate his birthday, and she may not be able to afford fancy gifts, but she knows she just made his night. And her own too.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's my take on Isaac. I'm not going to keep up the suspense of 'is he a nice guy or not?' There's some back and forth about this, but I definitely believe he's a conscious and active manipulator. I think he does like Maeve, though I'm not sure whether it's a romantic interest or platonic, and I think he wants to monopolise her time. It's no coincidence that he helped push her mother away, then almost immediately does something to drive the wedge between Maeve and Otis even deeper.


	7. Maybe I was waiting for someone else, and you came along

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this has taken a while. I wasn't really sure where this chapter was going, and it ended up in a different place than I originally intended. As well as a little bit longer than I intended.
> 
> Otis and Maeve seem to have minds of their own, when it comes to writing them. I still don't know exactly where this is all going, but I have some ideas forming, and I've been introducing them through the last couple of chapters. Hope you all enjoy.

“You kissed her?” Eric exclaims, almost falling off his bike in shock.

They're riding to school, the sun shining, and Otis feels like he's on top of the world. He laughs out loud, knowing he wouldn't believe it either, if it hadn't happened to him. Otis Milburn, weird, awkward introvert, kissing the most beautiful, most interesting and easily the coolest girl in school.

“Yep,” he almost shouts, freewheeling down a hill, feet off the pedals. “Three times.”

Eric catches up with him, trying to peer at Otis without veering off course. “Real kissing? Like, not a peck on the cheek or anything lame like that?”

“Real kisses. Tongue and prolonged physical contact and everything.”

“What sort of physical contact?” Eric's voice raises an octave in surprise. “Like, hand stuff?”

Otis pauses, imagining Maeve's hands doing... things. “No, not yet. Lots of hugging and she was practically sitting in my lap for a bit.”

“Otis!” Eric laughs in delight. “Finally! I was wondering whether I might have to lock you two in a cupboard together. You know, like in those movies? Where the guy and the girl have to be physically pushed together and told to sort themselves out?”

Otis does know. He's seen enough of those movies with Eric, and with his mum. He always hated the overwrought melodrama of them, and the unrealistic plot twists that stopped people who were clearly in love from being together.

“Well, you don't need to do that now, do you?” He knows he sounds peevish, and he shouldn’t, because Eric has been pushing him to get to this point for a long time, and never seemed to lose faith that it could happen. _He’s definitely a romantic at heart,_ Otis thinks, glancing at his friend and taking in his satisfied smile. _A naïve optimist,_ Maeve would say. But maybe some optimism isn’t such a bad thing after all.

Then Eric screeches to a halt, applying his brakes so sharply that Otis thinks he’s going to fly over his handlebars.

A tall, broody figure is standing on the pavement, apparently waiting, and Otis brakes as well.

“Hi, Adam,” Eric calls, walking his bike to the side of the road and dropping it carelessly.

“Hi, Eric.” Adam sounds almost shy, Otis thinks. Unsure of himself. It’s not like he ever really considered Adam Groff to be collected and secure in his identity but seeing him act almost boyishly is still odd. He watches curiously as Eric kisses his… boyfriend? Otis isn’t sure whether that term applies yet, and he figures he really should be asking Eric some questions. The kiss goes on for a while, and Otis starts to think he should just ride on, give them some privacy, but then Eric pulls back and grins. Adam smiles back at him, and Otis thinks it might be the first real smile he can recall seeing from him.

He stands for a moment, wondering whether he should leave them to it, but then Eric waggles his eyebrows at Adam and glances at Otis. Adam coughs uncomfortably and looks over. “Otis,” he says, seemingly more embarrassed at greeting him than he was at kissing Eric.

“Adam,” Otis replies, trying to think of something more to say. Nothing really comes to him, and the silence drags for too long before Eric jumps in, his hand resting easily on Adam's back.

“So, my two guys,” he forces a light tone. “we should all hang out. What do you say, Otis?” His smile is just a little desperate, and Otis knows that Eric really wants this to work.

“Yeah, of course,” he says, as cheerily as he can manage. “Do you... play videogames, Adam?”

Adam shrugs a little, and while him being uncommunicative is not unusual, the sheepish look on his face is. “Not really,” he says. “Too busy getting stoned and having a laugh.”

“Oh,” Otis says, not particularly surprised. “Well, Eric comes over to mine a lot to play games so... you could come with him next time?” He knows how ambivalent he sounds. To be honest, he doesn't particularly want Adam Groff in his house again, but if it makes Eric happy, he'll take the chance.

Adam just looks at him for a minute, and Otis can't tell what he's thinking at all. Just a blank face. It's unnerving. He wonders if Adam even remembers visiting his house before, if he remembers smoking weed with Otis' mum and her freaking him out. Then he nods. “Yeah, alright.”

“Great!” Eric exclaims, a huge smile on his face. “We'll definitely do that then. Adam, Otis is a bit of a gaming wizard so I'll make sure he goes easy on you.”

Otis shrugs awkwardly, matched by Adam, and he knows that Eric is going to be disappointed. He and Adam are never going to be friends.

“Well.” Adam says to break the awkward silence. “You'd better get to school, yeah? I'll see you later.”

Otis sets off, pedalling slowly and waiting for Eric to make his farewells and catch up.

They're quiet for the rest of the ride to school. Eric is smiling to himself, obviously thinking about Adam, while Otis just worries about their relationship, and what impact it's going to have on his friendship with Eric.

But his worries disappear, and he finds himself grinning too, when he sees the figure in a tasselled leather jacket, denim shorts and Doc Marten boots, perched casually on the back of a bench, near the bike rack. Maeve smiles too, when she spots them approaching, and Otis feels his heart soar. He woke up with an erection, thinking about what happened last night, and he can't wait to explore further with her.

He screeches to a stop and almost trips over the crossbar of his bike as he hurries to dismount. She's laughing quietly as he quickly locks it up and trots over to her.

“You alright there, dickhead?” she teases, looking him up and down.

“Yeah,” he replies, a touch breathless. “Fine. Just, you know, locking my bike up.”

“Mm-hmm.” Her eyes are fixed on his face, mirth glittering in them, as he reaches out to put his hands on her waist. He feels a sense of wonder again as she relaxes into his touch, leaning forward to kiss him, briefly but firmly.

“Were you waiting for me?” he teases in return, and she wrinkles her nose in a way he finds incredibly attractive.

“Maybe,” she says, “or maybe I was waiting for someone else, and you just came along.”

“That could be the story of our lives, Maeve.”

“Funny,” she cocks her head, studying him. “Listen, you want to come over to mine after school?” She looks a little nervous, asking him, and Otis wants to kiss her again.

“Yeah!” He almost trips over the word in his haste. “Of course. Absolutely. Cool.”

“Aww, you guys are adorable.” Eric gushes. They both turn to look at him, and he's standing with a huge, delighted grin on his face, holding his bike helmet over his heart. “I can't believe it took you so long, you gorgeous couple.”

Otis feels his face flaming red, but Maeve just levels a flat glare at Eric and after a couple of seconds he shifts uncomfortably. Then she smiles. “Tell me about it,” she says, voice light and cheery. Then she turns back to Otis. “See you later,” she says, gives him another quick kiss and saunters off. Otis just stares after her, and Eric moves over to stand next to him.

“That was weird.” Eric informs him. “I never thought I'd see Maeve acting like that.” Then he punches Otis in the shoulder. “You're in there, man! Going over to hers later? You reckon you'll have sex?”

Otis blinks, then looks askance at Eric. “I... I don't think that's why she wants me to go round, Eric.”

“But she has a lot of sex, yeah? Well, she _did_. With Jackson and whoever else. She's going to expect a lot of sex from you, Otis.” When Otis doesn't answer, Eric continues. “Look, you're not a virgin any more so what are you worried about?”

“What if I'm not good at sex? Ruby said I wasn't great.”

“Yeah, but you were really drunk, Otis.” Eric explains patiently. “The fact you could even get it up at all is impressive.” He pauses, thinking for a moment. “Maybe you could ask Ruby for some advice. You know? Things you could do better, things she liked?”

“Absolutely not!” He can't even imagine that conversation, but more than that, he can't imagine Maeve's reaction if she learned of it.

“Well then you'll just have to figure it out as you go,” Eric says with a shrug. “I'm sure Maeve will help you, she's probably amazing at sex.”

Otis stops dead, staring at Eric's back as he walks a few more steps, before realising he's alone. He turns around. “What's up?”

“She's probably amazing at sex.” Otis echoes, his voice monotone in horror. “Eric, she's going to be so disappointed with me, after Jackson! What if I can't... you know... what if she doesn't enjoy it?”

“She will!” Eric reassures him. “She loves you, Otis. Of course she'll enjoy it.” He pauses. “And if not, then she'll teach you how to do it properly.”

Otis doesn't say anything, but his stomach turns over at the thought of Maeve Wiley having to teach him how to... touch her and how to... have intercourse. Shadows of that old panic threaten, just for a moment, to engulf him but he breathes deeply and pushes them down. He'll just have to tell Maeve that they need to take it slow. Ola was fine with that, Maeve will be too.

* * *

Maeve spends most of the day thinking about Otis. It's hardly a surprise that nearly everything in the school reminds her of him – standing by her locker, sitting in the library, smoking in the toilets with Aimee – but she doesn't manage to talk to him, barely even sees him. It's not unusual, given their different schedules, and she'd gotten used to quietly avoiding him when he was dating Ola. It was too painful to be around him all the time, especially when Ola was there too. Then they broke up but Otis sent that text, and she made even more of an effort to avoid him, to pretend he didn't exist even while her treacherous mind kept reminding her just how real he was.

Now she catches herself thinking about him and breaking into cheesy grins, and it's horrendously embarrassing. Aimee knows what's going on, and teases her about it at every opportunity. It's not good for her image to look like a lovesick fool. Otis has really done a number on her.

While she doesn't see him, Otis does text her several times throughout the day, asking what time he should come over, should he bring anything, confirming the number of her caravan. She just knows he's obsessing over the fact she invited him to hers. He'll be overthinking what she means by it, he'll be worrying that she has high expectations, or that he's the one expecting too much.

She tells him to come over at seven, that way she can eat whatever meagre excuse for dinner she has at home and she can tidy up a bit. _Who's overthinking now?_ She asks herself, sardonically. But even while the Maeve of a year ago would sneer in disgust, she finds herself rushing around the small space she calls her own, tidying things away, cleaning the dirty bowls and plates that had stacked up over the last few days. She even changes her sheets just... you know... just in case. Not that she expects to have sex tonight, of course, but it doesn't hurt to be prepared. She knows there's a pack of condoms in the bathroom cabinet.

At six forty five, there's a knock on the door, and she jumps, then gives the place a quick once over to make sure it's presentable. Then she opens the door, feeling unusually nervous.

“Hi, luv, how are you?” It's Cynthia and Jonathan, one peering at her with what she imagines is a kind, sympathetic face, the other with complete disinterest.

“Hi, Cynthia,” she replies, deflated. “I'm alright. Just carrying on, you know?”

“Yeah, luv,” Cynthia says, nodding. “I'm really sorry about your mum. And your sister. Have you heard anything?”

“No, I haven't.” Maeve tells, her irritably. She doesn't need to be the source of gossip or empty pity. “Doubt I will either. Sorry.” She wants her to go away, now. Doesn't want to talk about her mum, or about Elsie.

“Okay, hun.” Cynthia pauses, grimacing apologetically. “I hate to do this but... you're a bit late on rent, this month.”

Maeve feels a chasm open up inside her. After everything that's happened, she'd completely forgotten. And she's completely broke. “Shit. Sorry, Cynthia, I'll get it to you as soon as, yeah?”

Cynthia nods, knowing they've done this dance before. “Of course, no problem. I'll be off, then. Have a good night.”

“You too,” Maeve answers, “night. Night, Jonathan.” She watches Cynthia bustle away, and notices Isaac, peering out of his caravan window at her. She smiles and waves, but doesn't hang around for him to come out. She still remembers him being weird last night, and doesn't feel like a repeat performance, or an apology that isn't necessary. Besides, Otis will be there soon. She closes the door and gives the place one last look, decides it's as good as it's going to get and refuses to think about money and what the fuck she's going to do to avoid getting kicked out of the caravan.

She just has time to give herself a quick once over in the bathroom – hair is fine, makeup is lighter than she usually wears at school, and this top shows just a bit of cleavage, hopefully enough to give Otis some ideas – before there’s another knock at the door.

Feeling oddly breathless, she rushes out to open it, and there he is. Goofy smile, ocean blue eyes and a bunch of flowers held out in front of him and she wants to laugh. She does laugh.

“Hi, Otis. You're early. Imagine that.”

“Well...”

“On time is late, I know.” She gazes at him fondly. “Come in.” 

He awkwardly shuffles through the narrow doorway as she holds the door open, brushing against her as he passes. She spots Isaac, peering out of his window again, just before she closes the door.

Otis looks around the caravan, and Maeve can see a hint of dismay in his face, before he hides it behind another smile. He coughs awkwardly, and holds the flowers out to her again. “Here, I got you these.”

“Thanks,” Maeve says, remembering the other time he bought her flowers. The first time she found herself looking at this awkward, skinny, pale kid and realising there were depths to him that she actually wanted to learn about. She thought she'd found someone who could be a friend, but even then, she'd have laughed out loud if anyone had said 'that's the boy you're going to fall for.'

She takes the flowers and quickly finds a jug to fill with water. “Sit down, Otis,” she says, over her shoulder and she can feel his eyes on her as she arranges the flowers. Then she takes a deep breath and turns around to study him. He's perched on her dowdy, worn out sofa, wearing a striped shirt and khakis and he's staring at her with a soft smile on his face.

“Thanks for inviting me over,” he says, his voice a little deeper than normal. It sends a jolt through her. She smiles and nods, taking a couple of steps towards him. “So,” he continues, eyes still locked on her. “What do you want to do?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Otis and Adam... let's be honest, they wouldn't get on. At least not to begin with. Eric might be willing to forgive Adam for everything, but best friends are never as ready to forgive and forget on your behalf.
> 
> And there's Isaac, just peering in on Maeve's life. Like a weirdo.
> 
> And what are Otis and Maeve going to get up to, in that caravan?


	8. Are you sure you want to do this?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this chapter took a while. I'm still not completely happy with it, and hope I manage to capture the effect I was going for - sort of sexy (yes, there is sexual activity in this one) but a little clinical and then some humour, finally touching on deeper issues - so yeah, nothing much going on in this one, right?

Otis' brain isn't working properly. He's got the most beautiful girl in the world straddling his lap, her lips and tongue working passionately against his own, and his hands gripping her backside. He's got an erection trying to tear through his pants, and Maeve is gyrating her hips slightly against it, sending tremors of delight into his gut.

 _How did I get here?_ It hadn't taken long. He'd asked her what she wanted to do, and she'd pushed him back against the couch and climbed on to start kissing him. 

His arms brush against her bare thighs, and he remembers that she's wearing a skirt, imagines how it must look, bunched up at the back, and groans into her mouth. She presses down a little harder on him and he groans again. Feeling a rush of bravery, he moves his hands, pushing them up under her skirt, and feeling the soft skin of her bumcheeks. He squeezes slightly, and it's Maeve's turn to make a little noise, sighing into his mouth. Their lips part, and she murmurs, “yeah, that's nice.” So he does it again. There's no material under his fingers, and he doesn't know if she's wearing any knickers, which makes his erection even harder, if that's possible. He lets his fingers creep inwards, until he's actually disappointed to feel fabric, nestling between her cheeks, and Maeve is sighing again, shifting her lips to his ear, where she nips and whispers, “touch me, Otis.”

Strangely, it's her whispering his name like that which excites him more than anything, and he decides to try something. He gathers the fabric of her knickers in his hand and tugs it up between her cheeks, just a little. He figures that it should apply pressure to... _ah, yes_. Maeve gasps and wriggles in his lap, so he does it again and she laughs, a deep, throaty laugh that he's never heard before. She reaches one hand down between them, and grabs his erection, squeezing. He jerks a little, and she laughs again, then stops and looks at him. 

“This is okay, isn't it? I don't wanna go too fast.”

 _It's a bit late for that,_ he thinks. _I've got your knickers in my hand and your grabbing my penis._ But what he says is, “no, it's fine. I just... I don't think I'm ready to... you know... have sex tonight.”

She studies him with a blank face for a moment, then says, “yeah, that's fine. No problem. We don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with.”

He nods, but doesn't take his hands off her, and notices she doesn't let go of his penis.

“So what do you want to do?” She asks, and he shrugs a little, doesn't know what to say. “I can suck your dick, if you like?” And she feels his... dick jump in her hand. “Yeah? The little head wants that, but what about the big one?”

Otis hesitates. Ola never did that for him, they hadn't gotten that far. He thinks he can remember Ruby doing it, but his brain shies away from those drunken flashes. Then he nods, and reluctantly lets go of Maeve's backside.

She smiles enthusiastically and jumps off him, then drops to her knees between his legs. “Great. Don't worry, Otis, I'll make sure you enjoy this.” She quickly unbuttons his pants and tugs them down, eyeing the bulge in his boxers. Then, more slowly, she slips her fingers under the waistband and pulls them up and over his erection, which bounces free comically. “Not bad, Otis,” she says, a lascivious glint in her eyes. Otis writhes in discomfort, unable to stop his brain from wandering towards how she may have said this to other guys. He knows he's of average size, he's done the research online, but he is absolutely not going to ask Maeve how he compares, in her experience. No. Definitely not.

Then her hand is touching his penis, and he gasps. She giggles, and runs her thumb around the head, and somehow she seems to know just where he's most sensitive. Again, Otis struggles to lose himself in the sensations, finds himself wondering whether all penises are the same, whether the same technique works for everyone. He knows now, of course, that's not true of vaginas, but Maeve is so sure and confident, as she uses her free hand to pull his trousers and boxers down past his knees.

She settles back on her haunches, and looks up at his face. “You okay? You seem a little stiff.” Then she snorts out a laugh. “Sorry, I didn't mean... bad joke. I meant, are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yeah, I'm sure.” He is. Really. Only, he's not.

“Okay,” she doesn't sound completely convinced, keeps her eyes on his as she leans forward and runs her tongue up the underside of his penis. Otis jerks in surprise. _Now that's a new sensation!_ he thinks, as Maeve grins. She flicks her tongue quickly over the head and he jerks again, his hands grasping at the couch cushion in an attempt to hold still.

“Good?” She asks, still watching his face.

“Yeah. Yes. It's good.” He nods, then gasps when she slips her lips over the head of his penis and sucks lightly, her hand still holding the base of the shaft almost gently. It doesn't feel like anything he's ever experienced before. The suction of her lips, the heat of her mouth. Then she takes more of him into her, dropping her head down and humming as she closes her eyes. She takes him deeper, face screwing up a little with the effort, until his penis has almost disappeared. Otis can feel her throat muscles working, as she holds him there, in the wet warmth of her mouth.

“Oh fuck,” he gasps. “Shit, I...” his brain isn't working properly. _My penis... my dick... is in Maeve Wiley's mouth. She's sucking my dick and it feels... amazing!_ He squirms on the couch, and Maeve pulls backs, gasping for breath and looking at him proudly. Her eyes are watering, chest heaving and cheeks flushed a deep red. She looks unbelievable.

“You've got a really nice dick, Otis,” she tells him, caressing the tip of it against her cheek. He squeaks in response and she gives a lusty chuckle, then darts her down to lick his balls, first one then the other, her eyes fixed on him the entire time. He jerks again, surprised at how sensitive he is. _It's never like this when I masturbate,_ he thinks, having to resist the urge to squeeze his legs together. Then again, he's never really touched his balls, just his... dick. 

Maeve wraps her fingers around the top of it now, just below the head, slowly but firmly wanking him as her tongue dips lower, licking towards his perineum. Otis feels a rush of heat and gasps.

“Oh god! I'm...” Before he can finish the words, it happens. His hips buck he ejaculates, erupting in an arc, and Maeve pulls back in surprise. It covers her face, ropes of it landing across her forehead and cheek, and in her open mouth. 

A couple of weaker pulses dribble over her hand, as she keeps working his dick, and she looks up at him. “Wow.” Then she laughs. “Good job, Otis, but it's customary to ask before cumming on a girl's face.”

“Oh... oh shit!” Otis stares, horrified. _I can't believe I've done that!_ The brief, sexual high is gone now, and he realises that he's just treated Maeve like... some kind of cheap... slut. Like the sort of girl everyone thinks she is.

He scrambles up from the couch, pushing past her while trying to pull his jeans back up. “I'm really sorry, Maeve. I didn't mean to... that's... I'm so sorry.” He turns around to look at her, and she's still on her knees, staring up at him in surprise. Face still covered in...

“Otis, what...?” She looks flummoxed. She looks so hot, so dirty, skirt hiked up around her waist, cum on her face and Otis feels another rush of excitement, then the shame returns. He looks away.

“I just... I used you,” he splutters. “I didn't mean to do that.”

“Used?” She stands up and walks over to him. He still can't look at her face. “What are you talking about?”

“You... sucked my penis and... my balls.” He's starting to feel a little panicky, short of breath. “And I... I _ejaculated_ on you. It's disgusting! I don't want to treat a woman like that.”

“Otis, it's fine!” Maeve exclaims. “I wanted to suck your dick, you didn't force me to.”  
“But then I... I came on you... on your face! I didn't even warn you!” He does look at her then, and sees the cum still there, like she's forgotten it. “It's degrading.”

Maeve sighs, and runs a hand through her hair, feeling the stickiness and wrinkling her nose. “Otis.” She she presses her lips together, thinking. “It's not degrading if it's something both people have consented to. Something they want.” He opens his mouth to respond, but she shushes him and continues. “I liked it.”

“You... _liked_ it?” Otis is aghast. “But you said I should have asked...”

“I was _joking_ , you dickhead!” She exclaims. “Well, sort of joking. In the future, it would be nice to get a bit more warning. But what did you think I was sucking your dick for? I wanted to make you cum, to give you pleasure. That's the point of it.”

“Right,” he says quietly. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

“Look, Otis. I know you've not been... sexually active,” she cringes at the clinical words, “but this is normal.”

He nods. “Okay. I mean, Ola and I never did this.”

“What?” Maeve blinks. “You... you mean you didn't have sex with her?”

Otis shakes his head. “I mean we never even did oral stuff.”

“Oh. Okay.” She seems almost upset by the admission. Then seems to realise she's still standing there with cum all over her face, and ducks her head in embarrassment, looking for something to clean it off. “God, I must look a mess.” Otis takes a tissue from his pocket and hands it to her wordlessly, he doesn't want to admit the effect it had on him, to see Maeve in that state.

She wipes at her face, avoiding his eyes, then hurries into the small bathroom and washes her face in the sink.

“I should probably go,” Otis calls, over the sound of running water, and he sees her freeze, her back to him. Then she turns around, looking startled.

“Why?” Her eyes are wide, face wet and make-up running. She looks as vulnerable as he's ever seen her, and his heart flips over in his chest.

“Well... you know...” but his own embarrassment is being pushed aside by that look on her face. She hurries out of the bathroom and reaches out to take his hand, uneasily. 

“Don't go.” She entreats. “Look, I'm sorry if you didn't like what I did, but...”

“It's not that,” he tells her, quickly. “I liked it a lot. I did! But I thought... well I made things awkward and maybe this is all a bit too quick for me.”

“Okay.” Maeve shifts awkwardly, and looks down at their hands, still clasped. “Too quick. That's fine. I guess I got carried away a bit. But look,” and she meets his eyes, bites her lip. “Just... stay for a bit. We don't have to do anything else. We can watch TV or... whatever. Please?”

He can't say no to her. Doesn't want to say no. “Okay then. What do you want to watch?”

* * *

Maeve can still feel the tension in Otis' body as they sit together on the couch, her head resting on his shoulder. They're watching some old movie that's on TV – it's not like she has any streaming accounts, or even any DVDs – Otis seems to be enjoying it, but Maeve hasn't paid even a tiny bit of attention.

She's thinking about what happened tonight. She's kicking herself for pushing him too far.

 _I'm such a fucking idiot!_ She thinks, as Otis stares at the TV. _Can't keep it in your pants, can you, Wiley?_ She'd thought Otis was more into it than he was. He'd been a bit nervous about touching her, but that was Otis. He'd definitely been turned on, and after going out with Ola, she figured he'd be more comfortable with sex than that. 

But he _had_ enjoyed it, there was little doubt about that. Then it dawns on Maeve what Otis has accidentally let slip – Ruby is the only girl he's had sex with . _Fucking Ruby! Of all people,_ she thinks, and her fists clench instinctively. Otis feels her tense up and looks down at her. She forces a smile and he returns it, completely oblivious to the punch of jealousy and anger that just hit her in the gut.

She's tried to forget that ever happened. To erase that spike of hurt she felt when she heard that arsehole jock praise Otis for being “a player.” That's not who Otis is. If it was, she wouldn't have fallen for him.

Maeve remembers how drunk Otis was that night, and she's pretty sure that whatever Otis did with Ruby is little more than a blurry memory. But if the knowing looks she's seen Ruby shooting her recently are any evidence, it's something that she remembers far more clearly.

She's used to Ruby being a complete bitch to her, doesn't expect anything else, but it didn't matter so much when all she had to hit Maeve with were the fictional exploits of Cockbiter. Now, her stomach turns over, thinking of the sort of things Ruby might come out with.

 _So that's something else I'll have to deal with,_ she decides, dolefully. _Not only Otis, who I'll have to control myself around, but Ruby who's already done the stuff I want to do with him._ She sighs heavily, and Otis peers down at her.

“What's wrong?” He looks slightly comical, chin tucked in so he can look into her eyes, and she smiles wistfully.

“Nothing,” she replies, “just thinking.” Her fingers draw an idle pattern on his forearm.

“That sounds dangerous,” he teases, and she gives him a little pinch.

“Watch it,” she warns, and smiles when he laughs affectionately. His anxiety and ridiculous sense of shame from earlier seem to have vanished completely, and Maeve would be lying if she said she didn't feel like she was owed some reciprocation for the blowjob, but she knows better than to risk it tonight. A solo session later will have to do.

They lapse into silence for a few moments, then Otis says, “don't worry, Maeve. We're going to be fine, tonight was just a weird... blip. Or something.”

“Well... good. Because I'd hate to think that the thought of sex with me was upsetting for you.” She's teasing again, knows that what's going on in his head is far more complicated than that, but it's late and they're not going to make progress on it tonight.

“Definitely not upsetting,” he assures her, his face flushing crimson. “Just... a lot to figure out.”

“Okay. We can figure it out together. Despite what you may have heard, I can control myself.” She relaxes into the warmth of Otis' body, and he stretches his arm around her shoulders. It feels nice. Really nice, and Maeve knows that she was telling him the truth – she _can_ wait. For him. Just... she hopes it won't be too long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so they did that. Well, Maeve did, and then Otis freaked out. I don't want to deal with his inbuilt shame and his messed up attitudes to sex too much, this isn't a therapy session for Otis. But I figure that the go-slow with Ola wouldn't really prepare him for Maeve, and that Maeve needs a bit of an adjustment to find a pace that Otis is comfortable with.
> 
> Hopefully the next one won't take as long but... no promises.


	9. What have you said about us?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this took ages. And I'll be honest, I'm still not completely happy with it. I just couldn't get it to go quite where I wanted it to. But that's really a metaphor for Otis and Maeve, I guess.
> 
> Not a particularly happy chapter, I'm afraid. But hopefully one that people enjoy anyway.
> 
> I'm trying to be as impartial as possible, when it comes to the central issue here. Who's right? Who's wrong? I guess you can make up your own minds. Or perhaps they're both just idiots.

_Well, that's just fucking great,_ Maeve thinks viciously, glaring at the assorted notes and coins on the table in front of her. _Thirty three quid and nineteen pence._ That's it. All the money she has. She already owes Cynthia fifty quid in rent for last week... which she pays a ridiculously low rate for as it is – something Cynthia had agreed with Maeve and Sean when she'd found out that their mum had run out on them – which means she's almost seventy quid short.

She leans back on the couch, sighing heavily, a dark despair threatening to overcome her. _Why is everything so hard?_ It's not like she doesn't try. She's had jobs that she hated, she's written essays and given her ideas to other people, and scraped by. For a while there, with the clinic, she actually had enough money to get ahead on the rent and still buy essentials like... food and new underwear. She needs to talk to Otis, see if there's any chance they can get something going again. 

Otherwise, she's going to need to find another job... while doing her schoolwork and all the extra stuff for the Aptitude Scheme... and trying to have a social life, for the first time in a long time. Even with her worries about money, and about school, Maeve is as happy as she's been in... well, she can't remember how long.

She has a boyfriend, and she loves him. Sometimes she still can't believe it. Either that she would fall for a boy like Otis, or that he'd feel the same. For scabby, stinky, flat broke Maeve Wiley. But he does. Despite their little mishap last week, they've been in lock-step every moment together. She's never felt as connected to another person, as though they're on exactly the same wavelength. 

Boys have always been simple to Maeve, in some ways. They love your tits, your arse, they want to put their hands and lips on you. They want to put their dick in you. And a lot of the time, that's all she's needed to worry about. With Otis it's completely different. While he's getting more confident touching her, even with the odd display of PDA at school or in town, he's clearly not driven by sexual desire like all the other guys she's been with. He cares about what she thinks, about what she feels, and he wants her to care about everything that's going on inside his head too.

It's a powerful feeling – that sense of connection. She's still surprised by him sometimes, when he gets references that no one else ever has, or when he casually says something that's genuinely profound. It's incredibly exciting. She never realised what a turn on it would be for a boy to recognise a Gloria Steinem quote, or reference Immanuel Kant in conversation.

 _I may have an intelligence kink,_ she thinks wryly. 

They still haven't had sex yet, but they've definitely expanded Otis' sexual horizons. She's managed to suck his dick again – a few times – without him freaking out, and she came like a steam train the first time he fingered her. She did have to admonish him that her nipples aren't made to be twisted like radio dials, but he's a quick learner, and it's a lot of fun teaching him.

But if she can't figure out a way of making these money problems... not go away, but at least recede a little, then she'll have to reduce the amount of time she spends with Otis by quite a lot. She hates that idea. 

Sighing heavily, she quickly collects the cash and shoves it into her purse. If she gets to school early, she can probably troll for a couple of essays from her usual suspects. Maybe now that she's officially a high achiever she can up her price by a few quid.

As she's leaving her caravan, she realises that Isaac is sitting outside. Even at seven thirty in the morning. Smiling, she wanders over to him.

“Alright, mate,” she calls. “What are you doing up so early?”

Isaac smiles that crooked smile at her, and waves his hands vaguely, as though he doesn't know why he's up either.

“Oh, you know... just watching the sun rise. Who could resist a view like this?” He nods his head at the row of identical caravans, and the grey sky above them.

“Right, sure.” Maeve smirks. “So what have you been up to? Not seen you much lately,”

“No,” he says, drawing the word out oddly. “You've been pretty busy, haven't you?” 

“I guess,” she says, then smiles. “Been spending a lot of time with Otis.”

“I know,” Isaac smiles smugly. “He's been in and out of that caravan like a blue-arsed fly.”

“You spying on me, you weirdo?” Maeve laughs, and Isaac bridles a little.

“No,” he says, quickly. “'Course not. I just notice things. Like your little boyfriend sneaking into the park, trying not to interact with any of the poverty-stricken masses.”

“He's not like that,” Maeve says, annoyed. “He never talks about money, or looks down on people.” In all honesty, Maeve has no idea how well off Otis is. He and his mum live in a really nice house, down by the river, but it's not like he buys expensive stuff, wears expensive clothes.

“Rich people don't talk about money because they don't have to worry about it, Maeve,” Isaac points out. When she glares at him, he holds his hands up. “Look, I'm not trying to say anything about Otis, I don't even know him. Call me a pessimist, but in the end it all comes down to the haves and the have nots. My brother and I are going to scrape to pay our rent this month, like we do every month. How about you?”

He takes her silence as confirmation, and continues. “So that's what I'm saying, Otis might not even realise it himself, he probably hasn't ever even considered that people like us are broke, that we have to do whatever we can to survive.”

“You're a dickhead, you know that?” Maeve says, half-seriously and, before Isaac can respond, she walks away. But as she leaves the caravan park and heads across the field, his words echo in her head.

* * *

“Hiya, Otis!” The enthusiastic, genuinely joyous tones can only belong to one person, but Otis still recoils in surprise when Aimee suddenly appears in front of him as he sits alone eating lunch. Her eyes are wide and she's smiling broadly.

“Aimee!... Hi,” he responds, spluttering slightly and trying to regain his equilibrium. Despite knowing her since they were five years old and in reception together, he doesn't know her well at all. They've never really moved in the same circles, and for a long time, Otis figured he was as invisible and unnoticed to her as he was to most other kids in their school. Being the subject of her intense but friendly stare at the moment makes him think that being invisible might be preferable. But he smiles nervously. “How are you?”

“I'm great, Otis,” she gushes, “and I hear you are too.” She smirks suggestively.

Otis feels himself flush crimson, and starts to look around for an escape route. He can already tell where this conversation is going. Aimee's not subtle. He doesn't say anything, just waits...

“You know,” she continues, unable to contain herself, “I was right to call you the Pleasure Master.”

Otis makes a strangled, awkward noise, and Aimee grins at him. “Yeah, Maeve talks. It's really interesting to hear a first hand account of how the resident sex expert gets down.”

“We haven't...” he starts, then pins his lips together. He doesn't know what girls talk about, but suddenly all the things that Maeve could have said are running through his head. _“Girls talk, clodpole.” Oh shit._

“What, exactly, has Maeve said to you, Aimee?”

Aimee's smirk is entirely too knowing, and Otis realises that everything he and Maeve have done together has probably been relayed, in great detail, to her.

“Oh. Bloody great!” He throws his hands up in exasperation.

“What?” Aimee asks, confused. “Nothing bad, believe me. It's all good. Very good. She's very pleased with you.”

“That's not the point, though!” He feels completely exposed, thinking back to yesterday after school, when he'd spent thirty minutes lying between her legs, patiently teasing her with his fingers and tongue until she was swearing at him to make her come, carefully cataloguing each tremble of her thighs and tensing of her stomach. Did Aimee already know about that?

Aimee belatedly realises that he's genuinely upset, and her eyes get big and glassy. “Oh no, have I put my foot in it? It's not a big deal, Otis. We just talk about that stuff.”

“Yeah well... I don't,” is all he can manage. “Look, I've got to go.” 

He scurries away from Aimee and into school, keeping his head down all the way to his locker. Logically, he knows that if Maeve has been talking that list doesn't extend any further than Aimee, but what about Aimee? Who has she been talking to? She's not exactly discreet. What if everyone knows that he almost had a panic attack after accidentally giving his girlfriend a facial? What if everyone knows that he got carried away and told her that her cum tasted sweeter than honey, and she laughed, kicked him in the shoulder and told him to stop being a pillock? It's private stuff.

*

* * *

It's not until the end of the day that Otis manages to speak to Maeve. They text a couple of times – Maeve complaining about Mr. Perceval's bad breath and failure to respect personal space in French class as usual – and arrange to meet outside school after final period.

Maeve's happy smile when she sees Otis ambling up stabs at his heart. Her face lights up when she smiles like that, eyes twinkling merrily as she looks him up and down.

“Alright, dickhead,” she calls, ignoring the few interested glances she gets from passing students. For a few days, there had been a lot of talk about this strange new couple, but nothing could keep the attention of the student body of Moordale for very long.

“Hey,” Otis answers.“How was your day?”

She shrugs. “It was okay, same as usual.” Then she leans into him. “Missed you at lunch, though. Sorry, I had to do some reading. Warhammer Tom has an essay about William Wilberforce he needs written, and I need the cash.”

Otis nods distractedly, still thinking about what he wants to say. Maeve notices, and looks at him quizzically. “You okay?”

He nods, frowns, then blurts it out. “You're telling Aimee about the things we do together.” It sounds more accusatory than he means it to, and he winces.

“What?” She blinks, confused. “What are you on about?”

“Aimee,” he repeats. “You're telling her about... sex stuff. With me.”

“Well... yeah. Some stuff. She's my friend. We talk.” Maeve is frowning at him now, bemused.

“You didn't ask me if it was okay.” Otis says, shortly. She seems so casual about it, and he can feel that embarrassed anger building up again.

“If it was okay to talk to my friend? Otis, what...”

“If it was okay to talk about me!” He raises his voice, cutting over her. “About... what we do together. That's _private_ , Maeve!”

She blinks, and he knows that expression well by now. She's angry too. He can feel the situation getting away from him.

“Well excuse me, Mr. Self-Important,” she grates, glaring. “Sorry if I want to talk to _my friend_ about things that are important to me.”

He pauses, holds up his hands defensively. “No. Look. Of course you can talk to Aimee but... what have you said about us?”

She shrugs. “I dunno, told her how good it is. How you make me feel when we're together.”

“But... the sex stuff? What have you told her about that?” When Maeve just shrugs again, angry eyes darting away from his, he knows. “Have you... told her about...” he pauses and swallows. “My penis?” 

“Oh, for fucks sake! Yes!” Maeve practically yells, tucking her chin defensively. “So what? You've got a nice dick. She asked and I told her. Girls talk about that stuff.”

“Maeve!” Otis feels like shrivelling up, humiliated. “How could you? Oh my god!”

“Fucking hell, I didn't give her measurements or anything! Just told her that it was nice. She's been with Adam Groff, it's not like she's going to be impressed by dick size.”

Otis' mind roils with a mixture of feelings – humiliation, frustration, a poison spike of jealousy over Maeve mentioning Adam Groff's penis and, under it all, anger at himself that he's reacting like this. He knows it's stupid, but he can't help himself.

Maeve is still glaring at him, and when he doesn't say anything she bites her lip. “Anyway, it's not like you don't tell Eric everything. I've seen you two gossiping away. You gonna say you haven't talked about me with him? That you didn't talk about _Ola_ with him? Or _Ruby?_ ” She practically spits that name.

“That's different, Maeve...” he protests, and a grimace flickers across her face.

“Is it? How?” Her glare is heated now, spots of colour high on her cheeks. “Come on, Otis? How is it different when you talk about _me_?”

“Because! Maeve, you're... used to this stuff. It doesn't bother you.” 

She flinches. Actually flinches, a flash of genuine hurt on her face, and Otis wants to kick himself. “Right. I'm used to it. To people chatting shit about me behind my back? Or maybe 'cos I've shagged so many blokes that I should expect it? How could it bother _me_ , right?”

“No!” Otis protests, taking a step towards her, but freezing when she takes a firm step back, arms folded. “That's not what I mean.”

There are tears in her eyes now, and he wants to punch himself in the head. “That's the problem. You never know what you mean. You need to fucking grow up, Otis.” There's acid in her voice, and a chill that he's not heard since she found out he'd had sex with Ruby. “I'm going home.”

She turns her back on him and walks away quickly, shoulders hunched inward. He wants to go after her, to apologise. But another part of him is still angry with her. _She knows I'm not experienced. She knows I'm not comfortable with all this!_ But as he watches her round the corner and disappear from view, what _he_ knows that is he's being a complete dickhead.

*

* * *

Maeve scrubs the tears out of her eyes furiously sniffing. She slams the door of her caravan, locking out the world – including Isaac, who calls out to her just as the door closes.

 _That absolute fucking arsehole!_ She thinks, seething with fury. _Fucking hypocrite!_

She can't believe him. Sick to death of hearing him blame other people for his own sexual inadequacies. _So he's not experienced, so fucking what? He managed to shag that bitch, Ruby, didn't he?_

She flings her bag down on the couch, wishing it was Otis' stupid, fat head, and slumps down next to it. Running her fingers through her hair, she sighs, wants to scream in frustration.

Because maybe she should have realised Otis would freak out if he knew that she was talking to someone – even if it's only Aimee – about what turns him on and how he turns her on. But why does she have to tiptoe around his insecurities all the bloody time?

Sex isn't shameful, and being open about positive experiences shouldn't be reason to be yelled at by your boyfriend. She's been patient with him, hasn't tried to rush him or push him him into anything he's not ready for. Even though she's so fucking horny she feels like she might burst. And now he's going to shame her?

He knows how much all rumours and stories about her hurt. She told him. The truth about “Cockbiter” and how easy it is for reputations to be ruined. She thought he'd understood. That's not who she is.

 _Maybe he's not who I think he is,_ she ponders, miserably. Her phone vibrates, and she refuses to look at it, sure it will just be another platitude from Otis - Empty words that do nothing but assuage his own guilt. Or worse, another high-handed declaration that they shouldn't see each other any more.

She doesn't know how long she sits there, fuming and replaying the conversation in her head, imagining all the clever, vicious, barbed put-downs she wishes she'd used. Imagining Otis apologising and meaning it, and her forgiving him. Them kissing to make up and laughing together. She can't help it. She wants to curl into a ball and cry. About Otis, about kids at school who whisper about Maeve Wiley, about the fact she has no money and didn't even get to talk to her boyfriend about that, because he was such a pillock. But she doesn't. Because if she starts crying over this, she's sure she'll never stop.

Belatedly, she realises she's really hungry, and that it's going dark outside. She gets up, hoping beyond hope that there's more in her cupboards than instant noodles and beans. As she trudges across to the kitchenette, there's a knock at the door and she stops dead. For a few seconds, she just stands. If she doesn't open it, she won't have to deal with whoever that is. If she doesn't open it, she won't be crushed if it's not Otis, come to grovel and prostrate himself. 

Sighing a heavy, tired sigh, she goes to the door and opens it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah so... first argument. Well, the first one since they got together. As I said, I'm not entirely happy with the escalation of it, but I figure they're two hormonal teens beset with insecurities and a multitude of different triggers that can set them off. So... there it is.
> 
> But who's at the door?


End file.
